1 



MORE WANDERINGS 
IN LONDON 

E. V. LUCAS 



By E. V. LUCAS 



More Wanderings in London 

Cloud and Silver 

The Vermilion Box 

The Hausfrau Rampant 

Landmarks 

Listener's Lure 

Mr. Ingleside 

Over Bemerton's 

Loiterer's Harvest 

One Day and Another 

Fireside and Sunshine 

Character and Comedy 

Old Lamps for New 

The Hambledon Men 

The Open Road 

The Friendly Town 

Her Infinite Variety — 

Good Company — 

The Gentlest Art 

The Second Post 

A Little of Everything 

Harvest Home 

Variety Lane 

The Best of Lamb 

The Life of Charies Lamb 

A Swan and Her Friends 

A Wanderer in Venice 

A W^anderer in Paris 

A Wanderer in London 

A Wanderer in Holland 

A Wanderer in Florence 

Highways and Byways in Sussex 

Anne's Terrible Good Nature 

The Slowcoach 

and 
The Pocket Edition of the Works of 

Charies Lamb: i. Miscellaneous Prose; 

II. Elia; iii. Children's Books; iv. 

Poems and Plays; v. and vi. Letters. 




ST. MARTIN's-IN-THE-FIELDS, TRAFALGAR SQUARE 



MORE 

WANDERINGS 

IN LONDON 



BY 

E. V. LUCAS 



"You may depend upon it, all lives lived out of London 
are mistakes: more or less grievous — but mistakes" 

Sydney Smith 



WITH SIXTEEN DRAWINGS IN COLOUR BY 
H. M. LIVENS 

AND SEVENTEEN OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS 




NEW YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



■ L'Jz 



Copyright, 1916, 
By George H. Doran Company 



NOV -7 1916 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 



ICI.A445536 



PREFACE 

THIS book is a companion to A Wanderer in 
London^ published in 1906, and supplements 
it. New editions, bringing that work to date, will, 
I hope, continue to appear. 

More Wanderings in London contains certain 
matter of interest omitted from the earlier book, such 
as descriptions of some minor museums, or touched 
there too lightly, and extends the range to Hampton 
Court. It also gives complete lists of the open-air 
statues of London and of those houses that are 
marked with tablets. 

Mr. Livens would have made, among other pic- 
tures not here, a drawing of the new Admiralty- 
Arch, had not this been forbidden, during war time, 
by the authorities. 

The end papers are a portion of an ingenious 
poster designed by Mr. MacDonald Gill for the 
Metropolitan District Railway Company, by whose 
courtesy it is used here. 

I offer no apology for the digressive character of 
the pages that follow. London was made for digres- 
sion. 

April, 1916 ^- ^- L- 

[V] 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTEB 



I. Bow Church and Sir Christopher Wren i 
II. The City's Pictures .... 28 

III. A Medley of Churches .... 53 

IV. The Royal Mint and New Scotland 

Yard 68 

V. The Statues of London : I. The City to 

Charing Cross 80 

VI. The Statues of London: II. Trafalgar 

Square and the Mall to Kensington 92 

VII. Holland House and Sydney Smith 



VIII. The Statues of London : III. Waterloo 
Place and Leicester Square 

IX. John Hunter's Museum 

X. The Statues of London: IV. Westmin 

STER AND THE EmBANKMENT 



XI, The Oval 

XII. The London Museum 

XIII. The Circus 

XIV. The Statues of London: V. Miscel 

laneous 

[vii] 



105 

126 
133 

139 
149 
163 
174 

185 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAQB 

XV. Sermons in Stones . , . . . 196 

XVI. The Adelphi and James Barry . . 202 

XVII. The Society of Arts' Tablets . .218 

XVIII. The County Council's Tablets . 229 

XIX. GouGH Square and St. Clement Danes 250 

XX. Hampton Court 267 

XXI. Lord's 281 

XXII. The Zoo . . . . . . .294 

XXIII. A Group of Londoners .... 303 



[viii] 



PICTURES IN COLOUR 
BY H. M. LIVENS 

St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, Trafalgar Square 

Frontispiece / 

PAGB 
20 ? 



St. Dunstan's-in-the-West, Fleet Street . 

St. Magnus the Martyr, from London Bridge 

The Temple Church, from Johnson's Buildings 

A Mansion in Park Lane, from Hyde Park 

Kensington Palace, from the Green 

Holland House, from Holland Walk 

The Horse Guards, from St. James's Park 

A Typical London Demolition Scene 

The Westminster Guildhall 

EusTON Station, Main Entrance . 

Berkeley Square, East Side . 

Dickens' House, Devonshire Terrace . 

The Inner Temple Hall, from the Corner of 
Crown Office Row, Where, at No. 2, 
Charles Lamb Was Born . . , . 



42 
62 V 
82 '^ 

100 . 

122 

130 : 
144 
166 V 
186 

206^ 

224 y 

246 ^ 
268V 



Hampton Court, the Great Gateway 

Richmond Bridge 278 ^'^ 

fix] 



OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGB 
10 



The Dead Cavalier. W. S. Burton (Guildhall) 

George Herbert at Bemerton. W. Dyce (Guild- 
hall) 28 

Thomas Tomkins. Sir Joshua Reynolds (Guild- 
hall) 48 

Study of a Lion. J. M. Swan (Guildhall) . . 74 

Study of a Tiger. J. M. Swan (Guildhall) . . 74 

Jesus is Condemned to Death (The Stations of the 

Cross, I). Eric Gill (Westminster Cathedral) . 88 

William Hunter Lecturing on Anatomy. Zof- 

fany (Royal College of Physicians) . .110 

The Sisters. Hoppner (The Tennant Gallery). 

From a photograph by the Medici Society . 136 

A Cricket Match at Chertsey. George Morland 

(Surrey County Cricket Club Pavilion) . .156 

Miss Ridge. Reynolds (The Tennant Gallery). 

From a photograph by the Medici Society . 176 

Relief (Christ Blessing Children). J. Flaxman 

(University College) 192 

Reproduced from the original in the Flaxman 
Gallery, University College, London, by per- 
mission of the University College Committee. 

[xi] 



OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS 



PAGB 



Soliciting Votes (from "The Election"). W. Ho- 
garth (Soane Museum) 212 ^ 

The Rake's Progress (Arrested for Debt). W. Ho- 
garth (Soane Museum) 236 

Andrea Odoni. Lotto (Hampton Court). From a 

photograph by W. A. Mansell & Co. . . 254 V 

Princess Mary as Diana. Sir Peter Lely (Hamp- 
ton Court). From a photograph by W. A. 
Mansell & Co 270 

The Holy Family with S. James. Correggio 
(Hampton Court). From a photograph by 
W. A. Mansell & Co 290 

A Shepherd with a Pipe. Attributed to Giorgione 
(Hampton Court). From a photograph by 
W. A. Mansell & Co 316 



[xiil 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 



^ 



MORE WANDERINGS IN 
LONDON 

CHAPTER I 

BOW CHURCH AND SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

St. Mary-le-Bow— An ancient crypt— The great Bell and 
the Dragon— Cockneys— London's lovely spires— Bridge 
viewpoints — The true white stone — Christopher Wren — 
Dr. Busby — An apocryphal poem — A voracious experi- 
mentalist—The Fire of London— Samuel Pepys as eye- 
witness — The Monument — The Moment and the Man — 
Wren's energy — His fifty-two London churches — A great 
life. 

1 BEGAN my earlier wanderings in London at 
No. 1 London, or Apsley House. Bow Church, 
in Cheapside, is another good starting-point, since 
one is no true Cockney unless bom within sound of 
its bells. It has a further claim as a place of de- 
parture in that its crypt is among the earliest Lon- 
don buildings. Let us then begin these new wan- 
derings here. 

Bow Church, or, to give its true name, St. Mary- 
le-Bow, is the glory of Cheapside. although prob- 

[1] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

ably a plebiscite of children would award that hon- 
our to Mr. Bennett's giants. The second part of 
its name comes from the arches or bows on which 
the first church was built, still in perfect preserva- 
tion in the crypt; and the Court of Arches, our 
highest ecclesiastical tribunal, which in early days 
held its sittings here, derives its style from the 
same circumstance. 

This crypt, which is of perpetual interest to anti- 
quaries, offers the opportunity of shedding ten cen- 
turies in as many moments. One has but to leave 
the bustle of Cheapside, with its motor horns and 
modernity, and descend a few steps, and one is not 
only in perfect stillness but surrounded by massive 
masonry of immense age, eked out here and there 
by Roman tiles. Only half of the crypt is shown; 
the other half, sealed up, contains hundreds of cof- 
fins. On a shelf is a headstone of Wren's brought 
from All Hallows — ^very like Mr. Chesterton. 

Bow Church itself is just a spacious siquare room. 
Its special attractions are the crypt; the famous 
bell whose firm attitude of ignorance is so familiar 
to all children who have ever played that most thrill- 
ing of games "Oranges and Lemons" (" T do not 
know,' says the great bell of Bow"); a^ J the gold 
dragon on the top of the spire which to any one in 
Cheapside caring to look up tells where the wind is. 
Londoners once never looked up, but the activities 
[2] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

jf Count Zeppelin have given our necks a new lis- 
someness, and, kt any rate after dark, we now look 
up with great frequency. 

According to the picture postcard which the Bow 
verger induced me to purchase, this dragon is two 
hundred and twenty-one feet, six inches, above the 
pavement. Furthermore, it is eight feet, ten inches, 
long, and the crosses under its wings represent the 
crest of the City. The great bell of Bow, according 
to a similar source of information which cost me an- 
other penny, weighs fifty-three hundred-weights and 
twenty-two pounds. It is not the bell that Whit- 
tington heard, — some say on Highgate Hill and 
others in Bunhill Fields, — ^but a successor. The 
Great Fire destroyed the ancient peal, but a new 
one of twelve now rings out merrily enough on 
practice nights. The postcard, turning from weights, 
enlarges upon the origin of the word "Cockney," in 
the following, to me unconvincing, terms : "People 
bom within the sound of Bow Bells are termed 
'Cockneys,' — a term said to arise from a misshapen 
Ggg called by some country-folk a 'cock's tgg,' and 
applied by them to townsfolk as being poorly de- 
veloped and misshapen. Another story is that a 
London boy ''hearing on a visit to the country a 
horse's neigh, asked what the noise was, and was 
told ; he then heard a cock crowing and said : 'That's 
a cock's neigh, then.' Thus the term was applied to 

[3] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

one who knew little of country life." Philology 
must do better than that. My dictionary derives it 
from the Latin word coquina^ a butcher, or coquino^ 
to cook, and gives as second definition "an effemi- 
nate, ignorant and despicable citizen" — of, I sup- 
pose, any town. 

It is upon the burned church's bows or arches, 
in the crypt, that Sir Christopher Wren based the 
present building, after the Fire of London; and 
when all the fortunate conjunctions of history come 
to be enumerated, surely the one which provided 
that that great man should have been here, all ready 
with his plans, before the ashes were cold, must rank 
among the first. For without Wren what would 
the City be^ Leaving St. Paul's aside, the City is 
indebted to Wren for more than fifty churches, each 
with some peculiar charm. The sequence is exact: 
first the Plague; then the Fire, which cleansed the 
germ-ridden rookeries and made London healthy 
again; and then Sir Christopher Wren, who built 
the City anew. He built much besides the churches, 
but the churches are his peculiar glory and greatest 
monument. 

To know his churches intimately one must visit 
them; but to get in a moment some idea of what 
he did to make London beautiful as a whole, one 
must ascend this Bow Church spire, or the dome of 
St. Paul's, or the Monument, or, better still — for 

[4] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

each of these eminences was designed by Wren him- 
self, and therefore they are too much in the piece, 
so to speak — ^better still, stand on one of the western 
Thames bridges on a fine clear afternoon when the 
sun is at one's back. All London's bridges are ex- 
cellent places from which to see London's spires; 
but Hungerford Bridge is perhaps the best, and 
Waterloo Bridge next, as they are central and the 
river towards the City has a curve. In this survey 
St. Paul's always dominates; but there are other 
spires that give the eye an equal or greater pleasure. 
From both these bridges, St. Bride's, with its gal- 
leries springing to heaven, is very notable, and also 
the octagonal open-work tower of St. Dunstan's-in- 
the-West; whereas from London Bridge it is the 
soaring solidity of St. Magnus the Martyr and the 
delicate flying spire of St. Dunstan's-in-the-East 
that most delight. All are Wren's save St. Dun- 
stan's-in-the-West, which is only of the last century. 

Standing thus, with all the fair prospect spread 
out, one realises the purpose and glory of Wren. 
Like the beneficent forester who plants for poster- 
ity, so did Wren build for us, or, if you like, plant 
for us, these gleaming spires being his lovely trees. 

One realises also that the only true building ma- 
terial for London is, as Wren knew, white stone — 
that stone which the hands of time and grime and 
weather so lovingly stroke. From Waterloo Bridge 

t5] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

one sees many white buildings old and new, and all 
are beautiful. A kindly light can indeed transform 
the most prosaic business blocks into very fortresses 
of old romance. There are nests of offices at the 
foot of Norfolk Street and Arundel Street, with a 
roll desk, a safe, and a tall hat in every room, which 
yet by virtue of this white stone can seem to be 
enchanted castles. 

Only of white stone should any London house be 
made. Wren knew this, and Gibbs, who built the 
noble church of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields, knew this, 
and Street of the Law Courts (as the extinguishers 
on his little fascinating turrets so prove to-day) 
knew this ; and their lead should have been followed. 
But we have allowed red brick to bedevil our city. 
Not only red brick, but painted stucco, and glased 
white brick which can never take the soot. If one 
wants to see the mistake of red brick crystallised, 
look at the Tower from the Tower Bridge and no- 
tice the error of the brick residence in the middle 
of it. But the Tower is not built of the true stone 
for London. The true stone is to be found in 
Wren's churches. 

The contrast may be observed also in Gower 
Street, University College all serene and seemly 
in white stone being now confronted by a discord- 
ant interloping University College Hospital in red 
brick; at Westminster, where that new Somerset 

[6] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

House, the London County Council's palace, is 
adjacent to St. Thomas's Hospital, that kindergar- 
ten toy city, and opposite New Scotland Yard, 
which is all deplorable red and yellow. There are, 
of course, red brick buildings in London which are 
beautiful and appropriate — notably St. James's Pal- 
ace and Holland House and Kensington Palace and 
Gray's Inn. These, however, are notable excep- 
tions, and all are in the neighbourhood of trees. A 
good example of the red house which is hopelessly 
wrong is the Prudential office in Holborn. 

Something of Christopher Wren, as the father of 
our London, must be said here. 

Christopher Wren was born at East Knoyle, near 
Tisbury, Wiltshire, on October 2o, 1632, a son of 
the rector of that village, also named Christopher. 
The elder Christopher's father had been a London 
mercer; his brother, the architect's uncle, was Bishop 
in turn of Hereford, Norwich and Ely. The rector 
of East Knoyle had married Mary Cox of Fonthill 
Abbey (afterwards made famous by William Beck- 
ford, Lord Mayor of London), but she died when 
young Christopher was only a very small child. His 
elder sister Susan, however, cared for him until, 
when he was eleven, she married William Holden, 
the divine and mathematician, a fortunate choice of 
husband from the point of view of posterity, for 
Holden instructed the boy in his mystery, and with- 

[7] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

out mathematics an architect cannot be supreme. 
Holden, I may say here, lived to be a Prebendary 
and Canon of his brother-in-law's cathedral, St. 
Paul's; and he was buried there in 1698. So sym- 
metrical can life be when it likes. 

Christopher went to Westminster School, under 
the famous Dr. Busby, but whether he had any 
great share of that disciplinarian's birch, I do not 
know. Probably not, for he was a weak, undersized 
boy, and there is evidence that he was uniformly 
"good." His scholastic career was indeed remark- 
able, and before he was eighteen he was employed 
by two learned men to assist them: by Dr. Scar- 
burgh, to help in the preparation of some lectures 
on anatomy, and by William Oughtred, to translate 
into Latin a treatise on geometrical dialling. This 
shows that the boy had wasted very little time either 
at school or at home. At Wadham College, Oxford,* 
he continued his researches; was elected a fellow of 
All Souls, that coveted honour; and in 1657, when 
only twenty-five, became Professor of Astronomy 
at Gresham College, London, and moved into rooms 
there which became a haunt of those men of science 
who subsequently organised themselves into the 
Royal Society. 

So far not a word of architecture! Wren may 
have given it a thought, but his early years, it is 
seen, were devoted to other branches of learning; 
[8] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

and in these he was second only to his great con- 
temporary Sir Isaac Newton. Indeed, his contribu- 
tions to geometry alone were very remarkable, and 
it is probable that several inventions which, through 
his carelessness over such matters, passed into other 
hands, and for which other brains have the credit, 
were his. The famous lines in Biography for Be- 
ginners— 

"Sir Christopher Wren 
Went to dine with some men: 
He said 'If anyone calls, 
Say I'm designing St. Paul's' " — 

seem to be based on inaccurate knowledge of his 
character, for he was anything but convivial — ^he 
had no time. 

The founding of the Royal Society in 1660 gave 
him an opening for his manifold intellectual and 
experimental activities, and he read there a number 
of suggestive papers on scientific subjects which 
prove him to have been as extraordinary almost as 
a scientific pioneer as an architect, and remind one 
by their variety and vigour of the great voracious 
many-sided geniuses of the Renaissance, such as Da 
Vinci, Michael Angelo and Brunelleschi. A good 
idea of Wren's versatility may be obtained from 
a eulogy of him by Bishop Sprat in 1667. After 
describing a number of experiments, all of them 

[9] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

leading to valuable results, the Bishop continues: 
"He has invented many ways to make astronomical 
observations more accurate and easy . . . has made 
two telescopes to open with a joint like a sector, 
by which distances can be taken to half minutes 
. . . devices to telescopes for taking small distances 
and diameters to seconds, apertures to take in more 
or less light the better to fit glass to crepusculine 
observations; has added much to the theory of 
dioptrics, and to the manufacture of good glasses 
and of other forms than spherical ; has exactly meas- 
ured and delineated the spheres of the humours of 
the eye whose proportions were only guessed at 
before; he discovered a natural and easy theory of 
refraction, showing not only the common properties 
of glasses but the proportions by which the individ- 
ual rays cut the axis upon which the proportion of 
eyeglasses and apertures are demonstrably discov- 
ered; has essayed to make a true selenography by 
measure — the world having had nothing yet but 
pictures; has stated the moon's libration as far as 
his observations could carry him . . . has carefully 
pursued magnetical experiments. Among the prob- 
lems of navigation, demonstrated how a force upon 
an oblique plane would cause the motion of the 
plane against the first mover. He explained the 
geometrical mechanics of rowing, and the necessary 
elements for laying down the geometry of sailing, 

[lO] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

swimming, rowing, flying and the fabricks of ships. 
He invented a very curious and speedy way of etch- 
ing, and has started several things towards the emen- 
dation of waterworks ; was the first inventor of draw- 
ing pictures by microscopical glasses; amongst other 
things the keeping the motion of watches equal, in 
order for longitudes and astronomical uses. He 
was the first author of the noble anatomical experi- 
ment of injecting liquors into the veins of animals, 
now vulgarly known, but long since exhibited to 
meetings at Oxford. Hence arose many new experi- 
ments, and chiefly that of transfusing blood. ... I 
know very well that some of them he did only start 
and design, and that they have been since carried to 
perfection by the industry of others; yet it is rea- 
sonable that the original invention should be ascribed 
to the true author rather than the finishers. Nor do 
I fear that this will be thought too much which I 
have said concerning him ; for there is a peculiar rev- 
erence due to so much excellence covered with so 
much modesty, and it is not flattery but honesty to 
give him his just praise who is so far from usurping 
the fame of other men that he endeavours with all 
care to conceal his own." 

It is not precisely known when Wren first con- 
sidered architecture seriously. But his father had 
gifts in that way; and a man who had taken all 
knowledge for his province and could draw with 

[11] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

such accuracy must have meditated often on the 
problems of building. In 1661 Wren had been ap- 
pointed to assist Sir John Denham (also and better 
known as the poet of "Cooper's Hill") as surveyor- 
general to His Majesty's Works; but it was not 
until his uncle, Bishop Wren, resolving to present 
Pembroke College, Cambridge, with a chapel, asked 
his nephew to contrive the matter, that he appears 
to have taken to designing. That chapel was begun 
in 1663. Wren also designed the Sheldonian The- 
atre at Oxford a little later; and these are his first 
works. 

We now reach a critical date both in the career 
of Wren and in the history of London: Sunday, 
September 2, 1666. For it was then, in the bake- 
house of one Farryner in Pudding Lane, in the small 
hours of the morning, that a fire began which, spread- 
ing and raging in a strong wind for six days, laid 
waste 436 acres of the City, demolishing in its ter- 
rible progress 89 churches, the City gates, thie Guild- 
hall, hospitals, schools, libraries, 13,200 dwelling- 
houses and 430 streets. London, of course, was in 
those days largely built of wood, and the streets 
were very narrow and often overhanging; but even 
then it is difBcult to realise a destruction on so gi- 
gantic a scale. At last, on September 7 or 8, 1666, 
it burnt itself out. Pie Corner at Smithfield and the 
Temple Church representing its western boundaries. 

[12] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

It had its caprices en route ^ for though Bow Church 
could not survive it, at the corner of Friday Street 
and Cheapside, close by, a house is still standing 
which was there during the conflagration and took no 
harm. 

This fire led to the full expression of the genius 
of Wren. 

The destruction which it brought about is so re- 
markable — was so notably the end of an architectural 
era — that I feel justified in going to the incomparable 
gossip of that period for pages more vivid than any 
that I could compose. Of the Great Plague, which 
preceded the Fire, Defoe, although he was not an 
eyewitness, is the historian. Of the Great Fire, 
Pepys gives us the best first-hand impressions. To 
Pepys Diary let us therefore turn. 

Pepys thought so little of it when it began that 
after noting the glare in the sky he went back to bed. 
But then the realisation came. ''Sept. 2nd. — So 
down, with my heart full of trouble, to the Lieuten- 
ant of the Tower, who tells me that it begun this 
morning in the King's baker's house in Pudding- 
lane, and that it hath burned down St. Magnus's 
Church and most part of Fish Street already. So I 
down to the water-side, and there got a boat, and 
through bridge, and there saw a lamentable fire. 
Everybody endeavouring to remove their goods, and 
flinging into the river, or bringing them into lighters 

[13] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

that lay off; poor people staying in their houses as 
long as till the very fire touched them, and then run- 
ning into boats, or clambering from one pair of 
stairs, by the waterside, to another. And, among 
other things, the poor pigeons, I perceive, were loth 
to leave their houses, but hovered about the windows 
and balconys, till they burned their wings, and fell 
down. Having staid, and in an hour's time seen the 
fire rage every way; and nobody, to my sight, en- 
deavouring to quench it, but to remove their goods, 
and leave all to the fire; and, having seen it get as 
far as the Steeleyard, and the wind mighty high, and 
driving it into the City ; and everything, after so long 
a drought, proving combustible, even the very stones 
of churches; and, among other things, the poor 
steeple [St. Lawrence Poultney] by which pretty 

Mrs. lives, and w'hereof my old schoolfellow 

Elborough is parson, taken fire in the very top, and 
there burned till it fell down; I to White Hall, 
with a gentleman with me, who desired to go off 
from the Tower, to see the fire, in my boat; and 
there up to the King's closet in the Chapel, where 
people come about me, and I did give them an ac- 
count dismayed them all, and word was carried in to 
the King. 

"So I was called for, and did tell the King and 
Duke of York what I saw ; and that, unless his 
Majesty did command houses to be pulled down, 

[14] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

nothing could stop the fire. They seemed much 
troubled, and the King commanded me to go to my 
Lord Mayor from him, and command him to spare 
no houses, but to pull down before the fire in every 
way. The Duke of York bid me tell him, that if he 
would have any more soldiers, he shall; and so did 
my Lord Arlington afterwards, as a great secret. 
Here meeting with Captain Cocke, I in his coach, 
which he lent me, and Creed with me to Paul's; and 
there walked along Watling Street, as well as I 
could, every creature coming away loaden with goods 
to save, and, here and there, sick people carried 
away in beds. Extraordinary good goods carried 
in carts and on backs. 

"At last met my Lord Mayor in Canning Street 
like a man spent, with a handkerchief about his 
neck. To the King's message, he cried, like a faint- 
ing woman, 'Lord, what can I do? I am spent: 
people will not obey me. I have been pulling down 
houses; but the fire overtakes us faster than we can 
do it.' That he needed no more soldiers; and that^ 
for himself, he must go and refresh himself, having 
been up all night. So he left me, and I him, and 
walked home; seeing people all almost distracted, 
and no manner of means used to quench the fire. 
The houses, too, so very thick thereabouts, and full 
of matter for burning, as pitch and tar, in Thames 

[15] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Street; and warehouses of oyle, and wines, and 
brandy, and other things. . . . 

"While at dinner, Mrs. Betelier come to enquire 
after Mr. Woolfe and Staines, who, it seems, are 
related to them, whose houses in Fish Street are all 
burned, and they in a sad condition. She would 
not stay in the fright. Soon as I dined, I and Moone 
away, and walked through the City, the streets full 
of nothing but people; and horses and carts loaden 
with goods, ready to run over one another, and re- 
moving goods from one burned house to another. 
They now removing out of Canning Street, which 
received goods in the morning, into Lumbard Street, 
and further : and, among others, I now saw my little 
goldsmith Stokes, receiving some friend's goods, 
whose house itself was burned the day after. 

"We parted at Paul's; he home, and I to Paul's 
Wharf, where I had appointed a boat to attend me, 
and took in Mr. Carcasse and his brother, whom I 
met in the street, and carried them below and above 
bridge too. And again to see the fire, which was 
now got further, both below and above, and no 
likelihood of stopping it. Met with the King and 
Duke of York in their barge, and with them to 
Queenhidie, and there called Sir Richard Browne 
to them. Their order was only to pull down houses 
apace, and so below bridge at the water-side; but 

[16] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

[of] this little was or could be done, the fire com- 
ing upon them so fast. . . . 

"Having seen as much as I could now, I away to 
White Hall by appointment, and there walked to 
St. James's Park; and there met my wife, and 
Creed, and Wood, and his wife and walked to my 
boat; and there upon the water again, and to the 
fire up and down, it still encreasing, and the wind 
great. So near the fire as we could for smoke; and 
all over the Thames, with one's faces in the wind, 
you were almost burned with a shower of fire-drops. 
This is very true; so as houses were burned by 
these drops and flakes of fire, three or four, nay, 
five or six houses one from another. 

"When we could endure no more upon the water, 
we to a little alehouse on the Bankside, over against 
the Three Cranes, and there staid till it was dark 
almost, and saw the fire grow ; and, as it grew darker, 
appeared more and more; and in corners and upon 
steeples, and between churches and houses, as far as 
we could see up the hill of the City, in a most horrid, 
malicious, bloody flame, not like the fine flame of an 
ordinary fire. Barbary and her husband away before 
us. We staid till, it being darkish, we saw the fire 
as only one entire arch of fire from this to the other 
side of the bridge, and in a bow up the hill for an 
arch of above a mile long: it made me weep to see 
it. The churches, houses, and all on fire, and flaming 

[17] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

at once; and a horrid noise the flames made, and 
the cracking of houses at their ruine. . . . 

''Sept. 4.1 h. — Up by break of day, to get away 
the remainder of my things; which I did by a lighter 
at the Irongate; and my hands so full, that it was 
the afternoon before we could get them all away. 
Sir W. Pen and I to the Tower Street, and there 
met the fire burning, three or four doors beyond Mr. 
Howell's, whose goods, poor man, his trayes, and 
dishes, shovells, etc., were flung all along Tower 
Street in the kennels, and people working therewith 
from one end to the other ; the fire coming on in that 
narrow street, on both sides, with infinite fury. Sir 
W. Batten not knowing how to remove his wine, did 
dig a pit in the garden, and laid it in there; and I- 
took the opportunity of laying all the papers of 
my office that I could not otherwise dispose of. And 
in the evening Sir W. Pen and I did dig another, and 
put our wine in it; and I my parmazan cheese, as 
well as my wine and some other things. ... 

"This night, Mrs. Turner, who, poor woman, was 
removing her goods all this day, good goods, into 
the garden, and knows not how to dispose of them, 
and her husband supped with my wife and me at 
night, in the office, upon a shoulder of mutton from 
the cook's without any napkin, or any thing, in a 
sad manner, but were merry. Only now and then, 
walking into the garden, saw how horribly the sky 

[18] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

looks, all on a fire in the night, was enough to put 
us out of ou'r wits; and, indeed, it was extremely 
dreadful, for it looks just as if it was at us, and the 
whole heaven on fire. I after supper walked in the 
dark down to Tower Street, and there saw it all on 
fire, at the Trinity House on that side, and the 
Dolphin Tavern on this side, which was very near 
us; and the fire with extraordinary vehemence. 
Now begins the practice of blowing up of houses in 
Tower Street, those next the Tower, which at first 
did frighten people more than any thing; but it 
stopped the fire where it was done, it bringing down 
the houses to the ground in the same places they 
stood, and then it was easy to quench what little 
fire was in it, though it kindled nothing almost. . . . 
''Sept. ^th. — Going to the fire, I find, by the 
blowing up of houses, and the great help given by 
the workmen out of the King's yards, sent up by 
Sir W. Pen, there is a good stop given to it, as well 
at Marke Lane End as ours; it having only burned 
the dyall of Barking Church, and part of the porch, 
and was there quenched. I up to the top of Bark- 
ing steeple, and there saw the saddest sight of deso- 
lation that I ever saw ; every where great fires, oyle- 
cellars, and brimstone, and other things burning. 
I became afraid to stay there long, and therefore 
down again as fast as I could, the fire being spread 
as far as I could see it; and to Sir W. Pen's, and 

[19] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

there eat a piece of cold meat, having eaten nothing 
since Sunday, but the remains of Sunday's din- 
ner. . . . 

"Sept, tth. — ^A sad sight to see how the river 
looks; no houses nor church near it, to the Temple, 
where it stopped. . . . Strange it is to see Cloth- 
workers' Hall on fire these three days and nights in 
one body of flame, it being the cellar full of oyle. 

"Sept. ']th, — Up by five o'clock; and, blessed be 
God ! find all well ; and by water to Pane's Wharfe. 
Walked thence, and saw all the towne burned, and a 
miserable sight of Paul's church, with all the roofs 
fallen, and the body of the quire fallen into St. 
Fayth's; Paul's school also, Ludgate, and Fleet 
Street. My father's house, and the church, and a 
good part of the Temple the like. . . ." 

I might here interpolate the remark that when a 
few years after the Fire it was decided to com- 
memorate it by the Monument, near Pudding Lane, 
on Fish Street Hill, it was Wren who designed that 
column. His original idea was to place a phoenix 
on the top. This he abandoned as being costly, not 
easily understood at such a height, and dangerous, 
owing to the wings in a gale. Then he thought he 
would like to set a figure of Charles II there, fifteen 
feet high; but the Merry Monarch declined the 
honour, and the present ball of flames was therefore 
decided upon. The King, however, is represented, 

[20] 




i'i 




ST. DUNSTAN S-IN-THE-WEST, FLEET STREET 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

for he may be seen in bas-relief on the western side 
of the pediment, dressed as a Roman. His great 
thoughtfulness for the unhappy burned-out citizens 
after the Fire, and his careful provisions for the 
safety of the new London, are recorded in the in- 
scription on the south side. 

So much for the demolition. Now for the re- 
building. The Fire was out on September 8th. 
On September I2th Wren laid before the King a 
plan for a new London. The plan was not adopted : 
it was too splendid; but Wren was appointed "sur- 
veyor-general and principal architect for rebuilding 
the city, its cathedral and its churches and other 
public structures." So far as the Cathedral and 
churches were concerned, all the salary that he asked 
was £300 a year. Wren's first consideration was 
St. Paul's, which he decided must be new in every 
particular. Concurrently with this mighty scheme he 
was able, such his industry and the lucid order of 
his mind, to think also of London's myriad other 
necessities. Of churches alone he built fifty-two, 
and although there is a family likeness between many 
of them, no two are similar; which, considering 
that they were designed contemporaneously and at 
some haste, is a remarkable achievement. His best 
among these lesser fanes are thought to be St. 
Stephen's, Walbrook, behind the Mansion House, 
with a bookshop now clinging to its walls, and Bow 

[21] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Church in Cheapside. At St. Stephen's, let me re- 
mark, an organ recital is often given in the luncheon 
hour, and the admirer of Wren can thus, in what has 
been called his minor masterpiece, agreeably medi- 
tate upon the great man's gifts. 

Knowing nothing about ecclesiastical architecture 
myself, I borrow from the Dictionary of National 
Biography the admirable summary of Wren's city 
churdh work. Having described Bow Church and 
St. Stephen's, the writer, Mr. F. C. Penrose, con- 
tinues : "Of the next period, St. Bride's is the most 
remarkable church. Internally a fine perspective is 
formed on each side by the arches of the nave, and 
externally its steeple is a beautiful and well-known 
object. In some repairs which it required in 1764, 
in order to facilitate the operation the height was re- 
duced by eight feet. The next period, 1680 to 1685, 
includes some very good churches. All Hallows, 
Thames Street, now destroyed, had a stately in- 
ternal arcade, and possessed what St. Peter's, Corn- 
hill, still retains, a very handsome carved oak screen. 
St. James's, Garlickhithe, had both a well-planned 
interior and a picturesque steeple, not improved by 
the cement having been stripped off the walls of the 
tower. The stone steeple of St. Mary Magdalene, 
recently taken down, though very simple, was one of 
Wren's most graceful campaniles. The elegant lead- 
covered spire of St. Martin's, Ludgate Hill, forms an 

[22] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

admirable foreground object to the views of St. 
Paul's from the west. The front of this church is 
an example of quiet, well-proportioned treatment 
where no projection was allowable. The spire of 
St. Augustin's in Watling Street, though less elegant 
than St. Martin's, has something of the same value, 
contrasting with the dome of St. Paul's as seen from 
the east. St. James's, Westminster, may be cited as 
the most successful example of a church in which 
galleries form a fundamental part. Its congrega- 
tional capacity is remarkable, and the framing of 
the roof is a marvellous piece of economic and scien- 
tific construction. 

"In the next period, St. Mary Abchurch, exter- 
nally very plain, is full of merit within, especially 
the cupola and its pendentives and other details of 
the interior, including some excellent carvings by 
Gibbons. St. Andrew's, Holborn, exhibits a very 
fine interior, partaking to a considerable extent of 
the character of St. James's, Westminster. Of the 
churches built between 1690 and 1695, St. Michael 
Royal deserves mention for its beautiful campanile 
and for the carvings by Gibbons in the interior. 
The tower of St. Mary Somerset is still left stand- 
ing, after the demolition of the church, on the north 
side of Thames Street, and forms, with its crown of 
pinnacles, an extremely picturesque object. The 
fine steeple of St. Vedast, near the General Post 

[23] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Office, is of this period. Its design is the most 
original of all Wren's campaniles. It owes nothing 
to sculpture or any ornate architectural treatment; 
but such is the skilful modulation of the masses and 
the contrasts of li^t and shade, combined with the 
expression of strength, that it requires no assistance 
from ornament to add to its beauty and importance. 
This fine object has the advantage of being well 
seen. The steeple of St. Duns tan' s-in-the-East 
dates from 1700. It is built in the Gothic style, 
and in a form which follows the precedent of St. 
Giles's, Edinburgh, and St. Nicholas's, Newcastle- 
upon-Tyne. At this period of Wren's professional 
life, as evidenced by this work and the church of 
St. Mary Aldermary, built in 1711, as well as in his 
repairs of Westminster Abbey, he shows an appre- 
ciation of Gothic architecture which he evidently 
did not entertain so strongly in his earlier days. In 
the work at St. Dunstan's there is much true feeling 
for the style in which he was working. That the 
spire was constructed in a highly scientific manner 
does not need to be stated. 

"In the fine steeple of St. Magnus, built in 1705, 
he returned to his more recent style and produced 
one of his finest examples. Lastly, the old tower of 
St. Michael's, Cornhill, which had been left standing 
when he rebuilt the church fifty years earlier, was 
taken down in 1722 and reconstructed in bold and 

[24] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

very effective Gothic from his designs. In all the 
above-mentioned beautiful campaniles, and indeed 
in Wren's works in general, surface ornament forms 
but a very subordinate part of their success; this 
is derived chiefly from the true elements of archi- 
tecture, balance of light and shade, evident strength 
and security of construction, accurate proportions of 
the parts, and the expression of the object of the 
structure. He shows also great reserve and does not 
fritter expense away." 

Besides St. Paul's and the fifty churches, Wren 
built the new Temple Bar, the Monument, and 
various city halls, hospitals, and so forth. He also 
found time to build the library at Trinity College, 
Cambridge, and the Chapel at Queen's College, 
Oxford, while he was continually repairing and 
enlarging older edifices. No life can ever have been 
fuller. He found time also to enter Parliament, sit- 
ting first for Plympton and then Windsor in 1685- 
1688-9, and again for Weymouth in 1701 and 
after. He found time also to marry twice, once in 
1669 and again in 1676. He had four children, one 
of whom died in infancy. Of the others, Christo- 
pher (1675-1747) wrote his life and also a work on 
numismatics; William lived until 1738, and Jane 
died, when only twenty-six, before her father. She 
was buried in St. Paul's crypt. Wren lived partly 
at Hampton Court, where he did much fine work 

[25] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

for William and Mary, and partly in St. James's 
Street, and it was in his London house that he died 
on February 25, 1723, aged ninety. He was buried 
in St. Paul's. 

I am personally no great lover of Wren's work, 
near by. But for his lavish hand in giving London 
all these exquisite minarets I cannot sufficiently 
admire and praise him. In 1881 a little book was 
published, entitled The Towers and Steeples designed 
by Sir Christopher Wren^ by Mr. Andrew T. Taylor, 
and this shows in a nutshell what he did for London 
as a distant prospect, and what London has lost. 
How many of Wren's towers and spires and steeples 
now soar lightly over the roofs of the City, I have 
not estimated; but nine at any rate have been 
sacrificed to the great god utilitarianism: St. 
Antholin's and St. John Evangelist's, both in Wat- 
ling Street, All Hallows the Great in Thames Street, 
All Hallows in Broad Street, St. Benet's in Grace- 
church Street, St. Benedict's and St. Christopher's 
in Threadneedle Street, St. Dionis Backchurch in 
Fenchurch Street, St. Michael's in Crooked Lane, 
another St. Michael's in Queenhithe, and St. Mil- 
dred's in the Poultry. All are gone ; and none were 
re-erected elsewhere, as was Wren's Temple Bar in 
Theobald's Park, and as they might so fittingly 
have been when a suburb needed a new church. St. 
Antholin's was a particularly beautiful spire — 

[26] 



SIR CHRISTOPHER WREN 

Wren's only example of a spire pure and simple : 154 
feet high, "it could," says Mr. Taylor, "very well 
have been allowed to remain, and indeed did remain 
for a short time after the church was pulled down; 
but the increased price which was thereby obtainable 
for the site finally outweighing less mercenary con- 
siderations, it shared the fate of the dhurch." That 
was as recently as 1875. 

Personally I shall always think of the spire of 
St. Dunstan's-in-the-East with most affection. 
Wren had a great belief in the stability of this 
delicate structure. Somebody once hurried to tell 
him that a hurricane had injured all his steeples. 
"Not St. Dunstan's," he replied confidently. 



[27] 



CHAPTER II 



The Guildhall Gallery — The Gassiot bequest — Modern pic- 
tures — William S. Burton and Pre-Raphaelism — A sin- 
cere life — William Dyce and Pre-Raphaelism — George 
Herbert at Bemerton — Henry VI's monologue — Earlier 
English pictures — Hazlitt — Reynolds's last portrait — 
Thomas Tomkins — The Fleet River — Lord Camden's 
reward for virtue — Old Drury Lane — Alderman Boydell 
— Old London — Samuel Richardson — Lord Nelson — J. 
M. Swan, R.A. — Lamb and Edward Burney — Various 
small pictures — Sir John Gilbert — Mr. Albert Goodwin 
— The Royal Exchange — Turtle soup. 

THE Guildhall has the only picture gallery 
which the City can boast; and it might be 
better. Indeed, one hardly dares to think what it 
would be like had not a certain Mr. Charles Gassiot, 
who died in 1902, bequeathed his collection to it; 
for the Civic Fathers make few independent claims 
either to connoisseurship or patronage of art, and 
most of the Guildhall exhibits have been gifts, either 
in single canvases or, as in the case of Mr. Gassiot, 
battalions. 

[28] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

The pictures are hung in four rooms, three of 
which are small and one large. As the official 
catalogue takes no account of these divisions at all, 
and as there is no natural sequence of numbers, the 
pursuit of any particular artist is an arduous task. 
Let mc say then that the more important modern 
pictures are in the great entrance gallery, which we 
will call Room I; the older British pictures are in 
the room (II) leading from the double staircase; 
the smaller pictures are in the room (III) leading 
from the single staircase; and the Sir John Gilberts 
are in the little room (IV) beyond that. It will 
save much trouble if we take the best pictures as 
they come in each room, beginning always with the 
left wall. The catalogue (1910) is, by the way, not 
up to date, for it includes many pictures that have 
been removed and takes no notice of some recent 
acquisitions, as, for example, a landscape by Mr. 
Adrian Stokes and an interior by Mrs. Adrian 
Stokes, both very charming and both in Room III. 

Entering the large gallery and passing first along 
the left-hand wall, the first picture to hold the eye, 
and one of the best in the collection, is No. 634, by 
Mr. Arnesby Brown — a typical work of this fine 
pleinariste, who paints always in the large manner 
and adores light. Then a melancholy bereavement 
scene by Frank Holl, and then a pair of Millais' 
child subjects, one on each side of a feat of skill 

[29] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

more civic than artistic — a representation of the 
Guildhall as it appeared when what were left of the 
City of London Imperial Volunteers, or "Lord 
Mayor's Own," returned from the Boer War in 1902 
and were thanked by their owner. It is the mission 
of such pictures to record events; they rarely afford 
aesthetic pleasure. The Millais' are commonplace 
works far inferior to the original sketches for them, 
but they have much of the prettiness of what might 
be called his saponaceous period. 

An almost painfully placid Leader landscape, 
making one feel very like a visitor to an ancient 
Royal Academy, comes next — the churchyard at 
Bettws-y-coed, as different as could be from the treat- 
ment often accorded it by an earlier artist-worshipper 
there, David Cox; then a fine example of that 
greatly-beloved Irish painter, the late Walter Os- 
borne, presented by a number of his friends; and 
then, in the comer, the best H. S. Tuke I have ever 
seen, with such sunlight in it as to make one warm 
and serene even in a London January. 

On the end wall are earlier works — ^by William 
Collins, father of Wilkie Collins who made our 
fathers' flesh creep, Patrick Nasmyth and Constable, 
all bequeathed by Mr. Gassiot. The Nasmyths are 
admirable examples, irresistibly suggesting the de- 
scription of him as the English Hobbema. The 
Constable wants light, but has greatness and vigour. 

[30] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

The Collins' ^re pretty domestic things, particularly 
No. 648, "The Kitten Deceived." 

The first picture of note on the east wall is a 
work of that shy and little-known Pre-Raphaelite, 
William S. Burton : "The Dead Cavalier," of which 
I give a reproduction in this volume. The picture 
is painted with minutest pains, as much care being 
given to the tortoiseshell butterfly which has settled 
on the broken rapier as to the central figure. The 
result is a moving dramatic scene, although it is very 
open to strictures by those critics who favour broad 
synthesis rather than detail and hold that the pre- 
sentation of what the eye can see in a moment is the 
end for which the artist should strive. One cannot, 
however, look long at any Pre-Raphaelite work with- 
out paying a tribute to deep sincerity and patient 
labour; and "The Dead Cavalier" has also some- 
thing else, for there is light in it. It chanced that 
Mr. Burton died at a great age — over ninety — while 
I was engaged on these notes, early in 1916, and I 
take the opportunity of quoting a passage or so from 
the interesting autobiographical fragment which he 
sent to Mr. Spielmann a few days before his death, 
and whidh Mr. Spielmann printed in The Times, 
They illustrate his serious, retiring disposition and 
the high standard which he set himself, and also tell 
us something of a little-known man. 

The notes, says Mr. Spielmann, begin when Bur- 

[31] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

ton, Rossetti, Millais, Holman Hunt, Arthur Hughes 
(Vhom Burton declared to be the most spiritual and 
exquisite of all our painters) were fellow-students 
at the Royal Academy. Before that he had been at 
King's College School, where the elder Rossetti 
taught Italian and where drawing was taught by 
John Sell Cotman, whose "dignified, large and wor- 
thy nature," as he says, "influenced him and satisfied 
his early longing for a noble conception of art and 
nature. Attendance at the School of Design under 
Dyce and at the British Museum further broadened 
his vision." 

"Pre-Raffaelism," as he always called it, Burton 
defines thus: "The fundamental idea of Pre-Raf- 
faelism is, roughly speaking, truth to Nature. To be 
consistent, we should add — truth to Life. Pre-Raf- 
faelism has come — and gone. It is already so far in 
the distance as to be somewhat mythical, subject to 
late, unknowing suggestions and remakingS; It is to 
me, nothing but the usual revolt of the young on 
entering into this wonderful world — this brilliant 
diamond of so many flashing facets — this world of 
worlds. It succeeds for a time, so long as it has any 
force of truth in it, and then it is followed, either 
by another flash from another facet, or — extinction. 
It is nothing but the usual breezy excitement of the 
youthful new-comer, with the new-comer's new eyes, 
fresh clear mind, and independent thought, who 

[32] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

finds the old world tired, weary, inactive, and very 
much in need of a rousing shake. So the new-comer 
sets about reforming the old world until, grown old, 
he is himself reformed." 

Reviewing the state of art in 1916, Burton was 
very pessimiistic : "And this is where we are now, 
so far as art is concerned : in gloomy darkness. The 
mad, maniacal dancing of the Post-Impressionist, 
the amazing Cubist, and incomprehensible Futurist, 
adding to the sadness of the darkness. And this is 
the end of Pre-Raffaelism ! In the dreadful Post- 
Impressionist exhibition there was a large canvas 
representing four hideous misshapen creatures danc- 
ing uncouthly over a mound. And I interpret the 
dance as one of Post-Impressionism, Cubism, Futur- 
ism, and senseless, unfeeling Ignorant Brutality over 
the grave of murdered Art, with all its Beauty, 
Grace, Love, Tenderness, Imagination, Poetry and 
Friendliness — all swept away in Art-Attila destruc- 
tion. But Art never dies — she will arise in all her 
noble Beauty and Charm, and some future S — — 
will look back and recall the sad, strange time." 

Here is the final farewell and testimony of the 
old painter: "I have written on and on and on. 
Please take it as the unburdening of one who is and 
has been shut up for many years without any social 
or artistic intercourse. I have not a friend to speak 
to and I know no artist to speak or write to. So 

[33]^ 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

I have to talk to myself mainly. . . . And now 
I leave the world with little enough done of all I 
wished, planned, designed and intended. . . . Here 
I consider myself a failure; but in the other and 
higher life, one step nearer to God, I hope to do 
much one way or another — no stifling, choking com- 
mercialism there. The Ideal awaits us ; we need not 
long for it — God ever good and loving has provided 
it. And noble, true, really spiritual religious pic- 
tures here would prepare us for it, besides making 
our lives more creditable and happier. . . . Selfish- 
ness, that is the Evil Spirit — Selfishness, that is the 
enemy — Selfishness, that is the black cloud that hides 
God from man. And that is the greatest and most 
awful tragedy that could happen to him." 

"A noble spirit and a holy mind," says Mr. Spiel- 
mann, "a man whose retiring nature and modest re- 
finement deprived him of the recognition he fancied 
he had wholly missed. No honester artist ever 
breathed." 

After Henry Holliday's "Burgesses of Calais," 
we come to two works by the master under whom 
Burton studied — William Dyce, R.A. (1806-1864). 
The larger of these, "George Herbert at Bemerton," 
I reproduce in this volume. The picture illustrates 
a conversation between Piscator and Venator in The 
Compleat Angler. Says Piscator, — who, we know, 
loved George Herbert fervently, for did he not write 

[34] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

his life also*? — "Come, let me tell you what holy Mr. 
Herbert says of such days as these : 

*Sweet day, so calm, so cool, so bright, 

The bridal of the earth and sky, 
The dews shall weep thy fall to-night, 
For thou must die.' " 

To this Venator replies : "I thank you, good master, 
for the sweet close of your discourse with Mr. Her- 
bert's verses, who I have heard loved angling, and I 
do the rather believe it, because he had a spirit suit- 
able to anglers, and to those primitive Christians 
that you love, and have so much commended." 
Dyce gives us Mr. Herbert under the trees in the 
little Wiltshire village on an evening of perfect 
peace, and in the distance is the spire of the cathedral 
where the saintly old man was buried. 

The next picture. No. 661, is a small work repre- 
senting "Henry VI during the Battle of Towton," 
1461, the moment chosen being when, having lost 
his crown, the King retired to meditate, and thus led 
to one of the most beautiful passages in Shakespeare 
and one peculiarly a favourite of Hazlitt (whose 
portrait we shall find in the next room) : 

"This battle fares like to the morning's war. 
When dying clouds contend with growing light. 
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, 

[35] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Can neither call it perfect day nor night. 

Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea 

Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind ; 

Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea 

Forc'd to retire by fury of the wind : 

Sometimes the flood prevails, and then the wind; 

Now one the better, then another best ; 

Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast, 

Yet neither conqueror nor conquered : 

So is the equal pose of this fell war. 

Here on this molehill will I sit me down. 

To whom God will, there be the victory ! 

For Margaret my queen, and Clifford too, 

Have chid me from the battle; swearing both 

They prosper best of all when I am thence. 

Would I were dead ! if God's good will were so ; 

For what is in this world but grief and woe ? 

O God ! methinks it were a happy life, 

To be no better than a homely swain ; 

To sit upon a hill, as I do now. 

To carve out dials quaintly, point by point. 

Thereby to see the minutes how they run, 

How many make the hour full complete ; 

How many hours bring about the day; 

How many days will finish up the year; 

How many years a mortal man may live. 

When this is known, then to divide the times: 

So many hours must I tend my flock; 

So many hours must I take my rest; 

So many hours must I contemplate; 

So many hours must I sport myself; 

So many days my ewes have been with young ; 

So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean; 

[36] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: 
So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, 
Pass'd over to the end they were created. 
Would bring white hairs unto a qinet grave." 

William Dyce, who was born in 1806, in Aber- 
deen, was the Father of Pre-Raphaelism. While 
studying in Rome in 1828 he painted a "Madonna 
and Child" in that manner which made a great im- 
pression on the art colony there. Returning to Scot- 
land, he took up portrait painting for some years; 
but in 1840 became head of the School of Design at 
the Royal Academy and thereafter concerned himself 
very seriously with the art education of others and 
with the production of minutely executed works 
such as those that are here. Coming to the notice 
of the Prince Consort, Dyce was commissioned to 
prepare various frescoes in London and elsewhere. 
Some are in the House of Lords; and a series illus- 
trating the life of Christ are in All Saints, Margaret 
Street. Other of his paintings, which were always 
marked by learning and thoroughness and have a 
strong and somewhat precise individuality, may be 
seen at the Tate Gallery. Few English artists have 
been more variously intellectually distinguished than 
Dyce, who was also a musician and composer, no 
mean ecclesiologist, and a copious pamphleteer. The 
Victorian florin was minted from his design. He 
died a full R.A. in 1864. 

[37] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

We next come to another commemorative picture 
— by A. C. Gow, R.A. — in which we see Queen 
Victoria at St. Paul's on the occasion of the Diamond 
Jubilee. The profits on the sale of the engraving 
of this work enabled the Corporation to acquire the 
large Shakespearean Maclise in the next room : pos- 
sibly not the best use to which the money could have 
been put. The remaining pictures to note in this 
room are two William Miillers, of which No. 703 is 
the better; a fair Linnell, No. 700; and Mr. La 
Thangue's evening sun effect, entitled "Mowing 
Bracken." 

Room II, which opens from the upper gallery, 
contains portraits civic and military. The first on 
the wall to the left is a fine example of Sir Thomas 
Lawrence: Richard Clark, the Lord Mayor of 
1784-5, whose speeches, the catalogue tells us, were 
remarkable for their "classic elegance and allusions." 
Next is a good David Roberts, the church of S.S. 
Giovanni e Paolo at Venice; and by it an interior 
of the Guildhall on what was one of its most august 
moments — the banquet to the Prince Regent, the 
Czar of Russia, and the King of Prussia (whom in 
those days England found very useful), in 1814. 
The galleries, draped in red, were, on this great 
occasion, packed with the fair. High up is a portrait 
of Hazlitt, with a sulky, uncompromising mouth. 
The catalogue does the famous critic and essayist 

[38] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

less than justice; for it gives no indication as to the 
special character of his genius and refers to his Reply 
to Malthus as his Reply to Walters, Of E. F. 
Green, the author of the portrait, I can find nothing: 
Bryan's Dictionary of Painters ignores him. 

Next we find the great Maclise version of the 
Banquet Scene in Macbeth; and on the other side a 
pretty Lady Mayoress (not in the catalogue) and a 
very charming and unusual David Roberts : "Edin- 
burgh from the Calton Hill," a golden landscape, 
exquisitely painted. 

On the next wall is the gem of the whole collec- 
tion, Sir Joshua's portrait of Thomas Tomkins. 
Thomas Tomkins was a calligrapher in the days 
when calligraphy was an honoured profession; and 
the Corporation employed him to write and embel- 
lish those addresses to distinguished guests in the 
presentation of which a great part of civic life is 
spent. In this picture Tomkins is more like an aristo- 
crat than a professional penman, but he has cor- 
roborative specimens of his work about him. The 
portrait was his own commission, a gift to the Cham- 
berlain's Office in 1790, the Chamberlain at that 
time being his friend John Wilkes; and it was our 
English Old Master's last work. Only fifty pounds 
was the price, and how the millionaires would jostle 
each other at Christie's to get it to-day! I repro- 
duce this notable picture. 

[39] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Two more examples of David Roberts are on the 
same wall, both more typical than the Edinburgh 
prospect but not so enchanting. No. 252 represents 
the interior of St. Stephen's in Vienna, and No. 253 
the exterior of Antwerp Cathedral. The Samuel 
Scott (No. 46) should really be entitled "The 
Thames at Blackfriars," for the opening of the Fleet 
River is a mere detail. Notice the bridge more or 
less where the underground railway and De Keyser's 
Hotel now are. The Fleet, which is perhaps Lon- 
don's most famous lost river, has not been seen since 
1765. Rising on Hampstead Heath, it flowed down 
to the Thames at Blackfriars, by way of Kentish 
Town, Camden Town, St. Pancras, where it passed 
under Battle Bridge close to King's Cross terminus; 
thence through Clerkenwell to Holborn Bridge, 
where the Holborn Viaduct now spans a vastly wider 
space; and so down Farringdon Street to the parent 
stream. Between Holborn Bridge and the Thames 
it was crossed by three bridges. The Fleet had to 
work for its living, so much so that it came to be 
known as Turnmill Brook, and it was big enough 
for barges to pass up it, at any rate as far as Hol- 
born Bridge. It was also useful as a carrier of 
refuse, and indeed so abused this privilege that it be- 
came a nuisance and a reproach, particularly at low 
tide. In Charles IPs reign the Fleet was properly 
overhauled and embanked as far as Holborn, and 

[40] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

real wharves- were constructed; but the enterprise 
was not justified. Within sixty years the Farring- 
don Street portion of it was covered over and Fleet 
Market established on the site ; and thirty years or so 
later the remaining portion, between Ludgate Circus 
and the Thames, disappeared also from view. But a 
Fleet still trickles underneath. Fleet Market, which 
was a kind of Burlington Arcade for food, lasted 
from 1737 to 1829, when Farringdon Street was 
born. The Fleet prison was on the eastern side of it. 

On the next wall we find a Lord Mayoral water 
pageant, now for some reason or other obsolete. The 
last was in 1857, yet there is still the river, and there 
are still Lord Mayors, and motor launches are easily 
obtained. Perhaps it is feared that the result might 
be so picturesque as to be unsettling. The scene 
represented is dated November 9, 1789. Each City 
Company then had its own barge, gaily decorated, 
just as, in Venice, the various societies still have 
theirs. 

Another Reynolds is on this wall — a large portrait, 
in the grand manner, of Lord Camden, with a tap- 
estry table-cloth: all very sumptuous. It was this 
judge who gave the verdict in John Wilkes' favour 
against the Government as prosecutors, and the pres- 
ent picture was one of the rewards of his honesty. So 
many other guerdons were also thrust upon him 
that Justitia must have felt herself to be normally 

[41] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

in a very poor way in England. Here also is a 
copy of the famous Reynolds portrait of Lord 
Heathfield in the National Gallery. 

On the last wall is an interesting painting by 
Abraham Pether of the burning of Drury Lane The- 
atre on February 24, 1809 — the disastrous conflagra- 
tion that led a year or two later to the composition 
of Rejected Addresses. The title says that the scene 
was viewed from Chelsea Bridge, but the topography 
of the picture is confusing. Abraham Pether (1756- 
1812) was known as "Moonlight Pether," from his 
addiction to landscapes with a lunar light. Here 
he contrasts moon and fire. He left a son, Sebastian, 
who followed so closely in his father's footsteps that 
Bryan considers this picture to be his. 

We come now to another Scotch historical scene, 
this time one of the series commissioned by Alder- 
man Boydell and left by him to the City — the mur- 
der of King James of Scotland, in 1437, painted by 
Opie. John Boydell (1719-1804) was a print-seller 
who had an enormous influence on English art and 
practically brought about the English school of en- 
graving. Beginning with French prints after Hor- 
ace Vernet, he commissioned Woollett to engrave 
Richard Wilson's "Niobe" (now in the National 
Gallery), and made £2000 by it. He then passed 
on to other Wilsons, to Reynolds, and to Benjamin 
West, whose "Death of General Wolfe," engraved 

[42] 




ST. MAGNUS THE MARTYR, FROM LONDON BRIDGE 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

also by Woollett, brought in £15,000 profit. In 
1790 Boydell became Lord Mayor. At this time he 
was beginning a new scheme, nothing less than a 
great series of prints illustrating Shakespeare; and 
here he had to find painters as well, Reynolds, Opie, 
Barry, Northcote, Fuseli, Romney, Stothard, West 
— all the best men were employed, up to thirty-three 
in number, together with two sculptors ; and a hun- 
dred and seventy works were executed. But mean- 
While, the French Revolution interfering with Boy- 
delPs foreign trade, he came upon bad times. In 
despair he applied to Parliament for leave to dis- 
pose of his effects by lottery, a suggestion which 
to-day would no doubt bring the Nonconformist 
conscience down like an avalanche, but was then 
agreed to; and the result of the iniquity was a sum 
which enabled him to free himself from liabilities. 
He died in 1804. 

The group entitled "The Apotheosis of Shake- 
speare," by Banks, which Boydell had commissioned, 
was reserved by the British Institution, who bought 
his Shakespeare gallery, as a memorial to the public- 
spirited old print-seller; but something prevented 
the completion of the plan: the pictures were dis- 
tributed, the group of statuary is at Stratford-on- 
Avon, and Boydell is forgotten. 

The next picture, which has a blend of crudeness 
and ability, represents the Mansion House about 

[43] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

1750 and is, to me, a very attractive thing. It has 
antiquarian value too. Note that in 1750 dogs were 
allowed to take a share in drawing small . carts, as 
they still do on the Continent but no longer here. 
Above this old London view is a portrait of that 
worthy printer of genius, Samuel Richardson, who 
astonished and delighted his friends by creating 
Clarissa Harlowe and Pamela at a time of life when 
most printers have forgotten all about the secrets of 
the human heart and are tired of the very sight of 
the written word. 

The last picture on this wall is a portrait of Lord 
Nelson by Beechey, making him far too big a man. 
The heroic Admiral also has a florid monument in 
the great hall of the Guildhall. To the Corporation 
he gave the sword of Blanquet, commander of the 
defeated French fleet at the Battle of the Nile, "as 
a remembrance that Britannia still rules the waves, 
which that she may for ever do so is the fervent 
prayer of Horatio Nelson." 

Room II also has two cases. One contains ex- 
amples of the admirable etchings of London made 
from time to time by Mr. Joseph Pennell. The 
other case contains, on one side, fourteen drawings 
by the late J. M. Swan, R.A. When this great 
artist died, in 1910, a committee was formed to 
purchase specimens of his work for presentation to 
various galleries all over the United Kingdom, and 

[44] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

the Guildhall' was not forgotten. It is probably no 
exaggeration to say that lions and tigers and the 
greater felidse generally were never so lovingly 
studied, or transferred to paper with more fidelity 
and mastery, in every mood, than by Swan. I re- 
produce two of the drawings in this book. 

One thing in the other half of this case I was very 
much pleased to see. You remember how in Lamb's 

essay on "Valentine's Day" he writes of K B. • 

the artist? Let me quote the passage, not only be- 
cause it is appropriate, but because it is so charm- 
ing. "All Valentines are not foolish; and I shall 
not easily forget thine, my kind friend (if I may 

have leave to call you so) E. B. . E. B. lived 

opposite a young maiden whom he had often seen, 

unseen, from his parlour window in C e Street. 

She was all joyousness and innocence, and just of 
an age to enjoy receiving a Valentine, and just of a 
temper to bear the disappointment of missing one 
with good humour. E. B. is an artist of no common 
powers; in the fancy parts of designing, perhaps 
inferior to none; his name is known at the bottom 
of many a well-executed vignette in the way of his 
profession, but no further; for E. B. is modest, and 
the world meets nobody half way. E. B. meditated 
how he could repay this young maiden for many a 
favour which she had done him unknown ; for when 
a kindly face greets us, though but passing by, and 

[45] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

never knows us again, nor we it, we should feel it 
as an obligation: and E. B. did. This good artist 
set himself at work to please the damsel. It was 
just before Valentine's day three years since. He 
wrought, unseen and unsuspected, a wondrous work. 
We need not say it was on the finest gilt paper with 
borders — full, not of common hearts and heartless 
allegory, but all the prettiest stories of love from 
Ovid, and older poets than Ovid (for E. B. is a 
scholar). There was Pyramus and Thisbe, and be 
sure Dido was not forgot, nor Hero and Leander, 
and swans more than sang in Cayster, with mottoes 
and fanciful devices, such as beseemed — a work, in 
short, of magic. Iris dipt the woof. 

"This on Valentine's eve he commended to the 
all-swallowing indiscriminate orifice (O ignoble 
trust ! ) of the common post ; but the humble medium 
did its duty, and from his watchful stand the next 
morning he saw the cheerful messenger knock, and 
by-and-by the precious charge delivered. He saw, 
unseen, the happy girl unfold the Valentine, dance 
about, clap her hands, as one after one the pretty 
emblems unfolded themselves. She danced about, 
not with light love, or foolish expectations, for she 
had no lover; or, if she had, none she knew that 
could have created those bright images which de- 
lighted her. It was more like some fairy present; a 
God-send, as our familiarly pious ancestors termed 

[46] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

a benefit received where the benefactor was unknown. 
It would do her no harm. It would do her good 
for ever after. It is good to love the unknown. I 
only give this as a specimen of E. B. and his modest 
way of doing a concealed kindness." 

Now E. B. was Edward Francis Burney (1760- 
1848), an illustrator and the cousin of Fanny Bur- 
ney, and in the glass case in Room II are several 
examples of his work, and one. No. 499, ''Youth 
crowned with Roses," which shows just how per- 
fectly fitted he was to design a valentine. 

In the little passage between Rooms II and III 
are a few interesting pictures, largely from the Gas- 
siot collection. Here, on the left wall, are interest- 
ing examples of that fine colourist John Philip : par- 
ticularly No. 714, and an English landscape sketch 
by him, No. 716; a good Constable sketch. No. 651 ; 
three typical village school scenes by Thomas Web- 
ster; and a view of London Bridge under frost in 
1795-6 by Daniel Turner, whom we shall see again 
in strength at the London Museum. Bryan calls him 
David Turner, but knows practically nothing of him. 
Lastly on this wall notice No. 728, a tender Mauve- 
ish little landscape by Mr. Spenlove-Spenlove. On 
the opposite wall are two Frithian works by Tissot, 
the French painter best known by his Biblical illus- 
trations. They tell their story. Between the two 
Tissots is another somewhat Frithian work by a 

[47] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

contemporary of Frith, the ill-fated Augustus Egg, 
Dickens's friend. 

Entering Room III, we find on the left another 
J. M. Swan, this time a lioness painted in oil (No. 
895), a noble thing. No. 845 has sweetness and 
delicacy. No. 638 will remind some visitors of what 
they once esteemed, a form of art that does not wear 
well. Here also are two of Faed's simple Scotch 
domesticities. 

On the other side of the door is a fine Brangwyn, 
rich and riotous — too rich and riotous, I should 
guess, to be a true representation of even the gayest 
Lord Mayor's Show on the sunniest November 9th 
ever known. Still, artists will be artists, and the 
wish is father to the thought. Here also is another 
William Collins (No. 644) and a very typical 
Leader (No. 334). 

On the next wall are nice pictures by Mr. and 
Mrs. Adrian Stokes and a slashing flower piece by 
Fantin-Latour, which is, however, poor in composi- 
tion (No. 881). On the next wall we find the same 
artist at his more distinguished, in No. 882 : "White 
Roses." Here also are more echoes from old Acad- 
emies — in the Frederick Goodall, the T. S. Cooper 
and the G. D. Leslie : three fallen idols, I fear. No. 
287 is an interesting little London scene: "Interior 
of the Debtors' Prison, Whitecross Street." Rather 
should it be called the courtyard of the prison. 

[48] 




THOMAS TOM KINS 

AFTER THE PICTURE BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLOS IN THE GUILDHALL 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

Ladies and gentlemen in financial straits are seen 
walking about ^nd conversing, exactly as in Dickens. 
Imprisonment for debt being abolished, the building 
was closed in 1870. It has since been pulled down. 

On the last wall are two little Landseers: No. 691, 
representing Lord Alexander Russell as a boy taking 
his first leap on his pony "Emerald," and the other 
(No. 690) illustrating the fable of "The Travelled 
Monkey." Here also is an excellent example of the 
art of Sir J. Seymour Lucas, and here is another 
Brangwyn, which is not, however, the equal of 
No. 861. 

The little room dedicated to the virile energy of 
Sir John Gilbert is a monument to his variety. Born 
in 1817, he wasted a certain . amount of time as an 
estate agent's clerk in Walbrook, close to the Man- 
sion House, and was then permitted to make draw- 
ing, which he had always practised, his profession. 
For many years he was the most prolific draughtsman 
in England, and the most vigorous, his chef d'oeuvre 
being, I suppose, his edition of Staunton's Shake- 
speare, which had over eight hundred woodcuts. For 
a while he was connected with Punchy but the editor 
brought about his retirement by the remark that he 
did not want a Rubens. Finding on The Illustrated 
London News more congenial work, he was its strong 
man for years. He was knighted in 1872 as Presi- 
dent of the Old Water Colour Society. After 1885 

[49] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

he sold nothing, but reserved all his work to be be- 
queathed to various galleries; and we here see the 
Guildhall's share. For the most part it is the his- 
torical side of his art that is represented, but what 
could be more delicate than Nos. 544 and 547, both 
drawings of unhappy Belgium*? 

As a contrast to Sir John Gilbert's breezy power 
and abundance, we have in this room a little collec- 
tion of the delicate whispering art of Mr. Albert 
Goodwin, who paints nature only when she is at her 
shyest and most pensive, and whose special gift it is 
to transform England into fairyland. 

The Guildhall is the City's only picture gallery; 
but the historical cartoons in the Royal Exchange 
are well worth seeing. The Royal Exchange has a 
somewhat forbidding appearance to the ordinary 
wanderer in London, who, finding himself within the 
mysteries of that unknown world the City, is fearful 
of entering buildings obviously sacred to commerce. 
But, at any rate when not the arena of speculators, 
the Royal Exchange is open to all, the greater part 
of it being a courtyard and place of meeting and of 
transit, with an arcade all around where office boys 
eat their dinners. Shabby cocked-hatted beadles 
guard the doors, but, except possibly in business 
hours, they bar no one's way. 

For many years it has been an honoured privilege 
with private citizens or City companies to give a 

[50] 



THE CITY'S PICTURES 

decorative fresco for the Royal Exchange walls, all 
of course celebrating some event in London's or Eng- 
land's history. Among these works may be seen one, 
by Mr. Brangwyn, allegorising Modern Commerce; 
one, by Mr. Gow, representing Nelson descending 
the steps of the harbour to join the "Victory"; a 
third, of William II building the Tower, by which 
is meant surveying that task from the back of a 
horse; Alfred the Great repairing the walls of Lon- 
don in the same vicarious way; John sealing Magna 
Charta; Elizabeth at Gresham College; Charles I 
at the Guildhall demanding the City's members; and 
so forth. 

This Royal Exchange, which is the third, dates 
only from 1844, when Queen Victoria opened it in 
person, nearly three years after her Royal Consort 
had laid the first stone. The first Royal Exchange, 
founded by Sir Thomas Gresham, had been opened 
by Queen Elizabeth some three centuries before. 
The Great Fire accounted for it almost exactly a 
hundred years after its foundation stone had been 
laid in 1566, but failed to injure old Gresham's 
statue. The second Royal Exchange also fell a vic- 
tim to fire, in 1838, and again Sir Thomas came out 
unscathed. His charmed effigy graces the present 
building, and will not, I hope, again be put to any 
salamandrine test. 

In the Guildhall museum is a collection of Roman 

[51] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

remains found by the builders when excavating for 
the Royal Exchange of this day. 

To many persons the Royal Exchange is known 
principally as the building near which is Birch's 
famous soup and sandwich house in Cornhill. An 
evil hour must, I suppose, strike, when it will be 
decreed that the resolute archaism of this admirable 
lunching place must give way to a more modern 
spaciousness ; but may that be long distant ! In the 
room upstairs the best turtle soup in the world is 
dispensed, the ritual ordaining that with it you 
drink Madeira and afterwards, during the season, 
you eat an oyster patty. That it is the best turtle 
soup needs no further fortifying statement when I 
add that it is the house of Birch which provides 
the City of London's feasts. 

The original Birch was one Lucas Birch (an un- 
pleasant collocation of words to me), whose son 
and successor, Samuel Birch (1757-1841), not only 
was an admirable pastrycook but was also a public- 
spirited man. Sheriff and Lord Mayor, and a suc- 
cessful dramatist. It was Birch who, at first un- 
supported on the Common Council, urged the es- 
tablishment of volunteer regiments at the outbreak 
of the French Revolution, and eventually carrying 
his point, was the first Lieutenant-Colonel of the 1st 
Regiment of the Loyal London Volunteers. 

[52] 



CHAPTER III 

A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES 

New taxi-driver and old cabby — The Corporation at wor- 
ship — Grinling Gibbons — St. Lawrence, Jewry — St. 
Magnus the Martyr — The odour of sanctity — Old Lon- 
don Bridge — St. Giles's, Cripplegate — St. Giles 's-in-the- 
Fields — A nest of singing birds — St. James's, Piccadilly 
• — St. Etheldreda's — Hatton Garden — The Westminster 
Cathedral— The Scotch chapel— Mr. Gill's "Stations of 
the Cross" — Mr. J. F. Bentley — Lincoln's Inn Chapel — 
St. Alban's, Holborn, and a modern Saint— Treasurers' 
windows — The Temple Church — A Great Man. 

IN this chapter I have brought together some notes, 
not wholly at random, upon a variety of London 
churches, old and new, which seem to me typical. 

These churches being situated both east and west, 
any one proposing to visit them in the order in 
which they occur in these pages will be doing a cab 
driver a very good turn. And why not*? The new 
cab driver, as an accessory of machinery, may be, it 
is true, a far less sociable being than that old cab 
driver the ally of the horse, yet he is a good fellow 
too. For a certain gruff rigidity one must blame 

[53] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

the cranks he has to pull, the wheel he has to turn, 
and, above all, the meter which registers his fare. 
His happy-go-lucky predecessor ("Drive you to 
Highgate?" said a hansom-cabby to me once, late 
one night in Shaftesbury Avenue, "Why, I'd drive 
you to America if you liked") — ^his happy-go-lucky 
predecessor, having no automatic tally, was in con- 
stant need of those gifts which discern the humane 
potentialities of a passenger and of those arts, either 
of ingratiation or menace, which can extract an extra 
sixpence. The new driver, the chauffeur, has no 
hopes. If he gets something added, he has, in one 
of the worst possible of worlds, received no more than 
his due; if he fails to be given it, it is just his usual 
luck, and the sooner he moves on to find another fare 
the better. That is the difference between the an- 
cient Jehu and the modem Shover; but beneath the 
taxi-driver's saturnine apathy beats, it is possible, 
the usual heart. 

Having seen the Corporation's pictures, let us see 
where the City Fathers worship. The church is close 
by: St. Lawrence, Jewry; and here, in a great pew 
with a civic throne in it, the Lord Mayor and his 
sheriffs sit in state, just under a window representing 
the Judgment of Solomon, while the rest of the Cor- 
poration, each carrying a bouquet, sit behind them. 
This happens every Michaelmas day, and after their 
preacher has discharged his homily at them, the gor- 
[54]l 



A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES 

geous company retire to decide the question who shall 
be Lord Mayor next year. 

One cannot imagine a more comfortable temple, 
for it is Wren at his (may I say*?) most cosy — the 
proportions being very attractive, and the coloured 
windows gay, and the atmosphere domestic rather 
than ecclesiastic. 

Many of Wren's churches, from St. Paul's down- 
wards, are monuments also to the genius of his friend 
Grinling Gibbons, the wood carver, and St. Law- 
rence, Jewry, stands by no means low on the list. 
This busy craftsman of fine taste was only in part 
English, being born at Rotterdam, in 1648, of, I 
believe, a Dutch mother. His father, however, was 
good Yorkshire. It is not known when the youthful 
Grinling came to London, but he was at Deptford in 
1671, for it was there that Evelyn the diarist found 
him making a wonderful wooden version of Tinto- 
retto's "Crucifixion," and not only took Sir Christo- 
pher Wren and Pepys to see it, but had the tour de 
force shown to His Majesty Charles II, who would 
have bought it had not the Queen, to whose bed- 
room it was carried, been luke-warm on the matter. 
Later, however, the King bought a similar version of 
Tintoretto's "Stoning of St. Stephen" and Gibbons's 
career was established. From this time he never, as 
we say, looked back, but at once started to decorate 
St. Paul's, the stalls there being his. He also worked 

[55] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

at the Royal palaces, and no nobleman's place was 
complete without its Grinling Gibbons panelling, 
cornice or other device. 

Gibbons remained a Londoner to the end, living 
in Bond Street, where he died in 1720, and he was 
buried in St. Paul's, Covent Garden. As a man he 
was described by Evelyn as "very civil, sober, and 
discreet in his discourse," which, as we shall learn at 
the Adelphi, not all artists have been. For his fine 
free way with wood, England, and especially Lon- 
don, owes him much. 

The particular glory of St. Lawrence, Jewry, is 
the Grinling Gibbons woodwork (but, on the 
strength of an engraving of Kneller's portrait of him, 
in the vestry, he is here shorn of the final "g," and 
known as Grinlin). His pulpit stairs have three 
delicate balusters to each step and a railing of the 
richest and hardest mahogany I ever saw. "True 
Spanish mahogany," says the venerable sexton; "not 
Honduras." His two doors at the entrance end of 
the church are exceedingly fine, the wood being box 
beneath its dark stain. Each is surmounted by an 
angel. 

The pews of St. Lawrence, Jewry, are select 
enough; but at St. Magnus the Martyr, whither we 
may now repair, just by the Monument, they are 
still higher and more private. Each is, in fact, an 
Englishman's castle; and within their walls the 

[56] 



A MEDLEY t)F CHURCHES 

eternal verities may either be pondered in profound 
and secure seclusion, or, if it should so chance, safely 
shelved in sleep. No city church has darker wood, 
.a deeper reserve, a broader aisle, or a richer bouquet 
of the odour of sanctity, in which kid gloves play 
so prominent a part, than this St. Magnus. How 
many Anglican temples one has, after a long conti- 
nental habit of church-haunting, to enter before the 
shock — or not perhaps so much shock as a nasal 
frustration — caused by the absence of incense ceases, 
I cannot say; but I have not myself yet reached the 
necessary number. 

St. Magnus the Martyr has the poor tinted glass 
that too often satisfies a City congregation, but which 
perhaps suits the Palladian window scheme better 
than rich pictorial subjects. It also has a famous 
organ — the first in England to use the Venetian swell 
— on which recitals are given in the luncheon hour 
once a week or oftener. The church is typically 
Wren's, and how fine the spire is, Mr. Livens's pic- 
ture shows. 

To me one of the most interesting things about 
St. Magnus the Martyr is the fact that old London 
Bridge sprang away from the north bank of the 
river close to it, and the arches under the church 
tower were opened up in order to take the pavement 
of the bridge-approach through them and thus widen 
the road. They serve now merely as an outer lobby 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

to the church; but in those earlier days before 
our new and utterly prosaic London Bridge, 
which is some 180 to 200 feet farther west, 
was built, how they must have echoed to con- 
stant footfalls! 

When last at St. Lawrence, Jewry, I walked to 
St. Giles's, Cripplegate, by way of Aldermanbury 
and Fore Street, just diverting a few steps in London 
Wall to see the remains of the old Roman rampart 
in the garden opposite St. Alphage. St. Giles's, 
Cripplegate, is famous as the burial-place of Milton, 
whose statue stands outside, and to whose memory 
a bust is to be seen within. It is not, of course, the 
St. Giles's which serves as the antithesis of the well- 
nourished aristocratic St. James's. That St. Giles's 
— or St. Giles' s-in-the-Fields, which is its full mis- 
nomer — is just off the Charing Cross Road, and is, I 
always think, the coldest and most forbidding fane 
in London, all lonely among its tombs, in a squalid 
district with the backs of dingy houses around it. 
But desolate though it be, this St. Giles's stands in 
very sacred ground too, and, as it chances, very 
poetical ground. 

No Milton is here; but here is a friend of Milton's, 
one of the sweetest and most distinguished of the 
minor English choir. Do you remember the lines on 
the death of Charles I, who was beheaded not so very 
far away*? — one needs merely to walk down the 

[58] 



A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES 

Charing Cross Road, across Trafalgar Square and a 
little way along Whitehall, to see the actual spot: 

"He nothing common did or mean 
Upon that memorable scene, 
But with his keener eye 
The axe's edge did try; 

Nor called the gods with vulgar spite 
To vindicate his helpless right, 

But bowed his comely head 

Down, as upon a bed." 

And you know those lines on a garden, with the 
exquisite stanzas: 

"Meanwhile the mind, from pleasure less, 
Withdraws into its happiness: 
The mind, that ocean where each kind 
Does straight its own resemblance find; 
Yet it creates, transcending these. 
Far other worlds, and other seas. 
Annihilating all that's made 
To a green thought in a green shade. 

Here at the fountain's sliding foot. 
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, 
Casting the body's vest aside. 
My soul into the boughs does glide: 
There, like a bird, it sits and sings. 
Then whets and combs its silver wings, 
And, till prepared for longer flight, 
Waves in its plumes the various light.'* 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Well, the author of those poems, Andrew Marvell, 
was buried here. f i 

We are only at the beginning of St. Giles's Golden 
Treasury. That sturdy Elizabethan translator of 
Homer, George Chapman, is among its dead. Noth- 
ing would naturally be much farther from one's 
thoughts, as one wanders here, than Keats's famous 
sonnet ; yet it is only too pertinent. 

And you remember that beautiful and impressive 
lyric which has these lines in it? 

"The glories of our blood and state 
Are shadows, not substantial things; 
There is no armour against fate; 
Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
Scepter and crown 
Must tumble down, 
And in the dust be equal made 
With the poor crooked scythe and spade. . . . 

The garlands wither on your brow. 

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
Upon Death's purple altar now. 

See, where the victor-victim bleeds: 
Your heads must come 
To the cold tomb. 
Only the actions of the just 
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust." 

Well, it was in a cold tomb here, in 1666, that 
James Shirley was laid. .^^ 

[60] 



A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES 

And you know that poet (the elder brother of 
holy Mr. Herbert of Bemerton, whom we saw medi- 
tating in his garden, in Dyce's picture at the Guild- 
hall) one of whose poems made use of the metre and 
some of the grave music of In Memoriam two cen- 
turies before In Memoriam was written — Lord Her- 
bert of Cherbury. It was he who, in the argument 
as to whether love endured beyond the tomb, thus 
nobly answered in the affirmative : 

"Nor here on earth then, or above, 
Our good affection can impair, 
For where God doth admit the fair 
Think you that He excludeth love? 

These eyes again then eyes shall see, 
And hands again these hands enfold, 
And all chaste pleasures can be told 

Shall with us everlasting be." 

Well, Lord Herbert of Cherbury was buried here 
too. 

Having seen St. Giles's, now so forlorn for all its 
sacred dust, let us see St. James's, which is one of 
the most successful of London's red brick buildings, 
in it serene retirement in a quiet bay off Piccadilly. 
Here again we find Wren and Gibbons in partner- 
ship, for Wren built the church and Gibbons carved 
t' e font and the foliage over the altar. Wren was 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

very proud of the interior, which he planned to hold 
two thousand persons and yet to have neither second 
walls nor buttresses. He also dispensed with a 
lantern, which, now that the windows are full of 
coloured glass, would be a great boon, for the church 
is very dark. 

St. James's may be in the centre of fashion and 
tone, but it has nothing quite of the quality of George 
Chapman, James Shirley and Andrew Marvell. But 
Walton's associate, cheerful Master Cotton, lies here ; 
and Tom D'Urfey, the very free humorist whose 
"Pills" which "purged" Jacobean and Augustan 
"Melancholy" might now get him or his publishers 
into the police courts; and Gillray the cartoonist; 
while Old Q., the disreputable, who, in life, scan- 
dalized our ancestors at the other end of Piccadilly, 
now reposes in a vault beneath the communion table, 
at this end. 

To say, as a writer in The Times does, that St. 
Etheldreda's, in Ely Place, is a Sainte Chapelle, is 
to give a wrong impression; but it is a very grace- 
ful building with a beautiful east window through 
which London's light permeates very sweetly. Be- 
low is a crypt chapel, which, on the last afternoon 
that I was there, was thronged by a company of little 
boys with whom two or three acolytes were doing 
their best, but whose native unruliness would have 
taxed the patience even of St. Anthony himself. 

[62] 




THE TEMPLE CHURCH, FROM JOHNSON S BUILDINGS 



A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES 

St, Etheldreda's is all that remains of the ancient 
palace of the bishops of Ely, afterwards converted 
by Sir Christopher Hatton, the favourite of Queen 
Elizabeth, into a mansion for himself. Hence Hat- 
ton Garden. The bishops again came into residence 
here in the reign of Charles I, one of them being Sir 
Christopher Wren's uncle, Matthew Wren, who died 
here. In 1775 the property was cut up for building 
purposes. 

So much for the smallest Roman Catholic church 
in London; now for the largest. How many times 
a London Re-revisited and London Re-re-revisited 
must be written before the Westminster Cathedraf 
is completed, and all that vast area of brick-work 
covered with marble, who shall say'? But the day 
is yet far distant. Gradually and patiently, and 
with beautiful thoroughness, the labour is always 
proceeding, and already the Lady Chapel's lower 
mosaics are finished, and much of the choir has been 
made sumptuous, and the tombs of Cardinal Man- 
ning and Cardinal Vaughan have lovely settings. 
Above all, the chapel of St. Andrew and the Scotch 
Saints is perfected, like a jewel in a rosary. In a 
foreign city this distinguished little sanctuary would 
be the resort of every traveller, but few Londoners 
know anything about it or expect English artists and 
artificers to toil to such ends. The aluminum grille 
alone is a joy; and the little mosaic landscapes of 

[63] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Scottish and Continental strongholds of the Faith, 
Amalfi and Constantinople (so ever-present in this 
cathedral), St. Andrew's and Milan, must fascinate 
every eye. The chapel is a monument to Scotland's 
fidelity, and around the cool walls runs a screed in 
honour of her warriors and martyrs for the Cross. 
Coolness is perhaps the dominant note — an almost 
inhuman frigidity of design and execution. 

Only a few of the "Stations of the Cross" from 
the chisel of Mr. Eric Gill are in position as I write 
(April, 1916). The archaic simplicity and severity 
of these reliefs are not to every taste; but no one 
can deny the sculptor's sincerity, and in a church an 
ounce of sincerity outweighs pounds of more facile, 
gifts. To my eyes Number V, in which "Simon of 
Cyrene helps Jesus to carry the Cross," is movingly 
beautiful, but I select for reproduction the first, in 
which Jesus is condemned to death. Note the easy 
grace of the boy kneeling to Pilate with the fatal 
ewer. 

Mr. Anning Bell's mosaic tympanum over the 
great doors is now complete and may be seen from 
the street. I could wish the background had not 
been white, but London's fogs and grime will see to 
that. 

Only the very young are likely to live long enough 
to see this cathedral finished; its architect, John 
Francis Bentley, died when it was only a shell. He 

[64] 



A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES 

received the commission in 1894, when he was fifty- 
five, Cardinal Vaughan, who now lies here, having 
selected him and fixed certain conditions, chief of 
which were that speed was important, that expense 
should be kept down, and that the nave should be 
vast and give an uninterrupted view of the high 
altar. The preference for Byzantine style being ex- 
pressed, Bentley visited various Italian cities, in- 
cluding, of course, Ravenna, but was unable, owing 
to the plague there, to get to Constantinople itself. 
The foundation stone was laid in 1895, ^^^ i^ 1898 
Bentley had a paralytic stroke and gradually sank. 

While on the theme of chapels to saints let me 
mention St. Alban's, Holborn, famous as the fifty 
years' scene of the ministrations of the late Arthur 
Henry Stanton (1839-1912), known to his adoring 
parishioners and in Heaven as "Father" or "Dad." 
St. Alban's, Holborn, is not too easy to find, but one 
should make the endeavour ; for it was here that this 
life-long rebel and comforter said his good things 
and performed his good deeds, and a shrine in his 
honour, now in course of completion there, is per- 
haps the ornatest memorial in London, if not in 
England. It would not, I fancy, wholly please the 
Saint himself, but since it is the product of much 
human love — the commodity which he most valued 
— he would accept it smilingly. 

Father Stanton was, I suppose, the most Romanist 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

priest not in the Church of Rome, and as such was 
a thorn in the side of his own Church. But such was 
the sincerity of him, and the power of him, and 
beautiful helpfulness of him, that in spite of various 
storms consequent upon his Confessional and his 
Mariolatry, he remained in orders, and even lived 
to be offered a stall in St. Paul's. 'If we love 
Christ, we should love His mother," he would say. 
Once being told that it was not "wise" to use incense 
and processional lights, he instantly replied, with 
his exquisite disarming wit, that only two sets of 
people were called "wise" in the Gospels — the Wise 
Men from the East, who offered incense, and the 
Wise Virgins, who carried processional lights! 

It is as a friend of the poor — as a disseminator of 
joy in mean streets — in short, as "Father" Stanton 
— that he lived and will live. Few pastors can have 
had such influence. Of the many humorous stories 
of his experiences in this parish, which he told with 
wonderful effect and immense enjoyment, this is a 
good example: — One of his Sunday boys called at 
the clergy house on a certain occasion when Father 
Stanton had given word that he was too tired to see 
any more that day. "The housekeeper told the 
boy," said Father Stanton, "that I was tired, and 
could not see him, and I heard him say, 'That's a 
nice message to send a boy in the parish. You tell 
him I want; to see him spiritual.' So, of course, I 
[66] 



A MEDLEY OF CHURCHES 

put on my biretta and came downstairs. When I 
got down the i^tairs the boy said : Tather, that's a 
nice message to send to a pore boy in the parish — to 
go away because you are tired. I want to see you 
private. I don't want to see you out in this 'all, 
where everybody can 'ear our business. Mayn't we 
talk somewhere quiet*?' So I said, 'Come into the 
dining-room,' and took him there, prepared for fear- 
ful revelations and spiritual difficulties, naturally! 
And then he said, Tather, you ain't got such a thing 
as a pair of trousers, 'ave yer^' So I said, 'Yes, old 
chap, I have; and I have got them on!' " 

If we are to speak of a London Sainte Chapelle, it 
seems to me that the Temple church is the real claim- 
ant to that honour — not that it has any of the slen- 
der grace of that exquisite stone and glass casket, but 
there is something in the clean strong beauty of the 
Temple pillars and vaulting of grey polished marble 
that always reminds me of the lovely Paris sanc- 
tuary. And it has the impressive dignity of its 
bronze Knight Templars too, nine of them lying 
in their well-earned perpetual repose on the circular 
floor. There are no Templars in Sainte Chapelle. 

The round and unique portion of the Temple 
church was built in 1185. The choir was added in 
1 240. Both have been restored, and are now almost 
too spick and span for such age to be credible. In 
some ways, London has no more beautiful building. 

[67] 



CHAPTER IV 

THE ROYAL MINT AND NEW SCOTLAND YARD 

Minting and good looks — Human machinery — Money-mak- 
ing — An Italian philosopher — "Aladdin" and "The Tin- 
der Box" — Ingots and furnaces — The master thief — Law 
versus lawlessness — Morbid relics — Criminal investiga- 
tion — The deadly finger-prints — The detective's powder 
— The burglar and the bottle — The importance of gloves 
— London street names — Colonel Panton — Hugh Audley. 

A VISIT to the Royal Mint is interesting if only 
to see the Royal Minters, who are a fine set of 
men with a greater proportion of handsome heads 
among them than in any other assembly that I re- 
member. Why the transmutation of metal into little 
discs, the love of which is said to be the root of all 
evil, should tend to good looks, I have no notion; 
but there it is. Can it be because these men have to 
do with money only when it is fresh and clean, be- 
fore it has set to work? 

Not so long since I was led through the Royal 
Mint by the Deputy Master himself, who did what 
was possible, above the din of minting, to instruct 
[68] 



THE ROYAL MINT 

me in its mysteries; but I recollect little save two 
crystal facts. One was that the men had not only 
fine heads, and for the most part fine hair and 
moustaches, but a fine frank bearing; and the other, 
that there are machines in this place which are 
practically human. The linotype had hitherto 
seemed to me, who have seen little in this way, the 
most drastically capable of all metal intelligences; 
but I don't know that it is really in advance of the 
gently reasonable creatures here that turn out hun- 
dreds of threepenny pieces a minute, and are equally 
willing to turn out shillings, half-crowns and 
sovereigns; while there is a strange sprawling mon- 
ster also here whose life is spent in counting pennies 
into bags, and who can safely be left to do this with 
perfect accuracy all day long; which is more than 
any accountant, however chartered, could be. 
Some things I suppose the hand of man will always 
perform best, and indeed to my great surprise I 
learned of one only the other day when I was pass- 
ing through that astonishing home of industry and 
thoroughness, Guinness's Brewery in Dublin, and 
coming to a vast hall of coopers, who were sawing, 
planing and hammering, was told that, so far at 
any rate as this great Irish firm is concerned, manual 
labour on barrels is considered to be more satisfac- 
tory than machinery, although machinery exists for 
the purpose. I confess to being very glad to hear it. 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

But how the Royal Mint managed to supply Eng- 
land with sufficient coins before machinery came in, 
I cannot imagine. There are astonishing contrasts 
in the machines, too; for while one of them will 
brutally and noisily bite thick strips of bronze as 
though they were biscuits, another in almost com- 
plete silence is weighing coins with the utmost deli- 
cacy, some score to the minute, and discarding into 
separate compartments any that are the faintest 
trifle too light or too heavy, and not a soul near it 
to interfere. 

A visit to the Royal Mint is so like a dip into 
the Arabian Nights that any one may be pardoned 
for bringing away only hazy impressions. For, to 
begin with, there is the strange incredible purpose 
of the place — to make money. Every one wants to 
make money; every one, that is, except the Italian 
waiter whom I met a little while since, — as it 
chanced, also in Dublin, — and who, when I asked 
him if he would not like to be rich, replied, "No, I 
don't want." "Why?" I inquired. "Because," he 
said, "I die if I get too much money." With the 
exception of this philosopher, all of us want to 
make money; and here, at top speed and with a 
superb carelessness, money is being made — actually 
made — in vast sums, for ever. We are in the very 
presence of the miracle. You not only see it being 
made, but hear it — a terrific uproar, the discord that 

[70] 



THE ROYAL MINT 

is such music to Mammon's ear. You see the whole 
thing exactly as in the stories, not only the Eastern 
"Aladdin," but the European "Tinder Box," where 
the soldier passed from the room filled with coppers 
to the room filled with silver, and from the room 
filled with silver to the room filled with gold. The 
only thing that you do not see at the Mint is the 
room filled with paper notes; but that is no loss. 
Who wants paper? Metal is the stuff. 

So far as my memory serves me, we entered first 
a room packed with ingots. Have you ever seen 
an ingot? There is something in the very word 
that brings romance about you. Ingots and doub- 
loons and pieces of eight. Well, here are ingots: 
great lumps of silver and bronze, piled on trestles 
to be wheeled into the furnace room. And then 
the furnace room, with its glowing fires and its 
cauldrons of boiling metal and its handsome, brawny 
fire-worshippers. Here everything is hot and liable 
to splutter, and the men must protect not only their 
eyes but their hands, so that every one has vast 
gloves. To anybody thinking of taking up minting 
as a home pastime I would say that the first thing 
to do with metal from which coins are to be made is 
to turn it into bars. These bars begin at, say, two 
feet six long and barely one inch thick, and a series 
of machines then take them into their maws and so 
deal with them that by the time they are finished 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

with they are some yards long and of the thickness 
of whatever coin they propose to be. It is then that 
they are fed into the machine which stamps out the 
discs corresponding to the circumference of the de- 
sired coins ; and then these discs are gently but firmly 
crushed between the two dies appertaining to those 
coins. Nothing could be simpler — now. Yet only 
by immense thought and engineering in the past 
has this simplicity come about. But I suppose that 
in a century's time minting will be simpler still. 

I read in Wheatley and Cunningham's London 
Fast and Present^ which no student of the City can 
neglect, that in 1798 a bold fellow named Turnbull 
entered the Mint with a loaded pistol and came 
out with 2804 guineas. It would puzzle him to do 
it now. Even with a letter from the Deputy Mas- 
ter in one's hand, one is scrutinised with painfully 
minute suspicion by the policeman at the lodge. 

Having seen where money is made honourably, 
and with a speed and efficiency that nil the mind 
with confidence as to England's solvency, I was per- 
mitted to visit another Government institution, a 
large part of whose activities is concerned in track- 
ing down and securing those ingenious persons who 
make it dishonestly — I mean New Scotland Yard. I 
have said that at the Mint every one is handsome. 
At Scotland Yard every one is big and robust and 
very courteous; while the atmosphere of the place 

[72] 



THE ROYAL MINT 

is discretion absolute. I have always thought the 
police the best of men, but one must go to Scotland 
Yard for the very flower of their physical amplitude 
and ingratiating gravity. 

Nor, as one passes along the countless corridors, 
each filled with offices where the machinery of law 
versus breakers of the law is at work, does one get 
the suggestion that there is any conscious feeling of 
virtue within, as against vice outside. The attitude 
is dispassionate. It comes to this, that there are in 
the world certain persons who, from this motive or 
that, like to commit felonies and burglaries, even 
murder; they are there^ outside. There are also 
other persons, less numerous or less romantic, whose 
business is to catch them; they are here^ inside. 
Ethics need not come into it at all. The general 
impression gathered in New Scotland Yard is one 
of bland humaneness and sympathetic understand- 
ing, based on something horribly like iron. 

The Black Museum, which I principally wished 
to visit, is no longer to be seen. The need for more 
space has led to its, I hope only temporary, dis- 
mantlement. Only a few cases in a dark passage 
remain to indicate its scope, but these are filled with 
sinister human interest. One of them is wholly de- 
voted to those bank-notes which you or I would 
confidingly accept and innocently pass on, but which 
to the expert eye reveal such damning discrepancies. 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

For the perfect forgery apparently does not exist; 
always there is some oversight. In the other cases 
are historic weapons by whose agency this or that 
famous murder was committed. But, as I say, for 
the time being, the Black Museum does not exist, 
nor, very properly, is writing about it encouraged. 
Moreover, one can see such relics, although not in 
such quantity, elsewhere. 

That which one cannot see elsewhere is the finger- 
print department, where the system of identification 
of criminals by the agency of these tell-tale marks, 
which was brought to perfection by the present Chief 
of the Police, Sir Edward Henry, is carried on. 
Here are wonders indeed ; and here I was privileged 
to receive a thousand answers to as many questions; 
and what is more delightful than that*? Of the 
theory of finger-prints I knew vaguely a little. I 
knew that Sir Francis Galton had investigated the 
subject with his usual thoroughness and patience, 
and had come to the conclusion that there are not 
two sets of finger-prints alike in the world. On this 
assumption (which, never having been contraverted, 
may be called a fact) the great finger-print depart- 
ment here, with its hundreds of thousands of records, 
— which are added to every day, — was reared. 
What I did not know was the means by which, within 
two or three minutes, the officials, after receiving a 
new set of finger-prints, — for every convicted crim- 

[74] 




STUDY OF A LION 




STUDY OF A TIGER 



AFTER THE DRAWINGS BY J. M. SWAN IN THE GUILDHALL 



THE ROYAL MINT 

inal is compelled to make his mark in this way, — 
can ascertain whether or not their possessor has been 
convicted before. For of course names would be of 
no service : old criminals are always changing those. 
The system of classification which makes this rapid- 
ity possible was explained to me. 

Another thing that I did not know, even after a 
fairly assiduous career as a reader of detective stories, 
from Gaboriau to Mr. Chesterton, — that is to say, 
from realism to fantasy, — is that the traces left even 
by the most casual touch of the fingers can persist so 
long. I was, for example, shown a cash box which a 
criminal had handled a full year before the record 
of the impression of his touch on it was taken, and 
it was still incontrovertible evidence. 

The finger-print serves two purposes. It estab- 
lishes the previous record of an old offender, and 
it helps to bring home the crime to suspected men 
who are guilty. The difference between the two sets 
of prints is that the old offender has to make his at 
the police station, in ink, as a matter of routine; 
whereas the suspected man, who often does not know 
that he is suspected, makes his unconsciously, usually 
on a letter handed to him by the detective and then 
taken back again and quickly powdered. I myself 
saw how effective this was, for while talking to the 
Chief of the department I lightly touched a piece 
of paper and then watched the surface of it being 

[75] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

powdered and brushed until there the damning rec- 
ord stood out, plain to the eye, with every papillary 
ridge testifying against me. 

Wise thieves of course wear gloves; but there 
seems to be an almost inevitable loophole in every 
scheme of precaution that the lawless take. One 
burglar, for example, who, carefully gloved, had 
completed his raid, packed up the swag and got 
securely away, made one little slip; and in criminal 
investigation it is the little slips that tell. The 
detectives arrived and powdered everything that 
was likely to have been touched, but there were no 
results. They were in despair until a wine-glass 
was found that had had champagne in it; but here 
again there was no clue: the burglar had worn his 
gloves to drink. When, however, they at last found 
the bottle and powdered that, finger-marks came out, 
for he had been forced to remove his gloves to draw 
the cork. By these marks was he captured. I have 
seen the bottle. To would-be thieves or murderers 
I say, therefore, never leave off your gloves. 

I came away impressed not only by the complete- 
ness of the net that surrounds every criminal who 
has once been caught, but conscious also of what 
an enormously amusing and exciting enterprise it 
would be to pit one's wits against those of this 
massive building. 

And what, may very naturally be asked, have the 

[76] 



THE ROYAL MINT 

London police to do with Scotland^ Why Scotland 
Yard'? Well, there is a reason for its name, as for 
those of most other London streets and squares and 
courts. The Scotland Yard which this present 
headquarters succeeded — between Whitehall and 
Northumberland Avenue — ^had been the favourite 
lodging of the Kings of Scotland and their ambas- 
sadors. 

While on this subject, I may say that inquiry 
into these names usually yields interesting results. 
Thus, Panton Street, off the Haymarket, owes its 
name to the famous Stuart gambler and gallant, 
Thomas Panton, a Colonel in Charles II's army, and 
an "absolute artist" at every game "either upon 
the square or foul." One' night's hazard bring- 
ing him in a sufficient fortune to provide £1500 a 
year, he retired from the tables, married a wife, 
bought land in Herefordshire and that part of Lon- 
don on which Panton Street stands, and, when in 
1685 he died, his bones were laid in the Abbey. 

Cheyne Walk takes its name from Viscount 
Cheyne, Lord of the Manor of Chelsea in the seven- 
teenth century. 

Clarges Street was called after Sir Walter Clarges, 
nephew of General Monk. 

King's Cross was so called because a statue of 
George IV was erected there in 1836. After serving 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

as a butt for the wits for nine years, it was taken 
down and broken up. 

All the Half-Moon Streets are so called because 
of a Half -Moon tavern in them. The various Hart 
Streets probably derive from a similar circumstance. 
The various Duke Streets may be traced to the ducal 
owners of their neighbourhood. Thus Duke Street, 
Buckingham Street, Strand, was named from the il- 
lustrious George Villiers, or "Steenie," who wag 
stabbed at Portsmouth — as all readers of Twenty- 
Years After know. Duke Street, Portland Square, 
was named after William, Duke of Portland. 

The various King Streets derive of course from 
kings — but from different ones; and the various 
George Streets from different Georges too: I, II, 
III and IV. Our own George may perhaps give his 
name also to a street, but only with his full style — 
George V. 

The Gray of Gray's Inn was Lord Gray, in the 
fifteenth century. Staple Inn was named from the 
fact that the merchants of the Staple had their 
hostel there. 

Lincoln's Inn was built on land belonging to the 
Earls of Lincoln. 

Stratton Street takes its name from John Berkeley, 
afterwards Baron Berkeley of Stratton, the hero of 
Stratton Fight, in 1660, on the Royalist side. 

The Audley Streets are named after the owner of 

[78] 



THE ROYAL MINT 

the property on which they stand, Hugh Audley, 
the Stuart money-lender, who, possessing in 1605 
£200, died in 1662 worth £400,000, a sum which 
represented then far more than it does now. And 
this in spite of a loss of £100,000 through the civil 
wars ! Audley was a man of implacable shrewdness 
who, in the interests of his profession, made a great 
outward show of piety ; keeping on his table, among 
all the horrid machinery of cent per cent, a book of 
devotion ostentatiously displayed. A guide to 
worldly success was subsequently compiled, with 
him as its hero. 

I mention only these name derivations, more or 
less at random, just to illustrate the richness of the 
subject. One of the million and one books to be 
written on London would certainly trace to their 
source as many street names as possible. But some 
would present great difficulties. How would one 
expect at this late day to penetrate to the original 
inwardness of Paradise Street and Nightingale 
Square and The Vale and Tranquil Passage*? 



[79] 



CHAPTER V 

THE STATUES OF LONDON 
I. THE CITY TO CHARING CROSS 

London and Paris — Sir Hugh Myddelton — The Royal Ex- 
change — The City's highest ground — A new position for 
Queen Anne — Elizabeth Fry — The Smithfield Martyrs — 
Christ's Hospital — Early City worthies — Two mysteri- 
out obelisks — Cheap Queen Bess — The Griffin and Tem- 
ple Bar — A white elephant — Charing Cross and Queen 
Eleanor — King Charles on horseback — An astute brazier 
— Le Soeur. 

LONDON has been accused of taking her me- 
morial, or marmoreal, duties, at any rate by- 
comparison with Paris, too lightly; and after a visit 
to the public statues which exist by the thousand in 
the French capital, one realises the truth of the 
criticism. A list of great Englishmen who have, 
at any rate, no open-air monument in London 
would be more surprising than a list of those who 
are thus remembered; but apart altogether from the 
fact that the English mind does not tend much to 
this kind of celebration and that the French mind 

[80] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

does, there is a further reason for our poverty of 
statues and the Paris profusion, in the circumstance 
that the open air of London and the open air of 
Paris are so very different. One makes for darkness 
and the other for light. Hence a marble statue in 
London soon becomes a dreary and dingy thing, 
whereas in Paris it continues to dazzle. 

In this and some following chapters I have at- 
tempted a complete list of the open-air statues and 
memorials that London has erected, at any rate in 
the more accessible parts. There may be some omis- 
sions, but not many. Under cover, of course, the 
memorials are countless : in the Abbey, in St. Paul's, 
in the National Portrait Gallery, in the Guildhall, 
and in churches everywhere. But of these I say 
nothing here. My list is for the pious pilgrim in 
the streets. It is based upon notes contributed to 
the East London Advertiser in 1903-4, and to Notes 
and Queries in 1908, by Mr. John T. Page, who 
kindly permits me to make use of them. 

Mr. Page begins with the Martyrs' Memorial at 
Stratford, in honour of the Protestants burned in 
the reign of Queen Mary. But I think that our 
most easterly statue may be that of John Wesley 
(1703-1791) in the City Road, erected on the 
centenary of his death by the "Children of Method- 
ism," in front of the City Road Chapel; while this 
is a convenient place to mention the statue of Sir 

[81] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Hugh Myddelton (1565-1613) on Islington Green, 
close to the reservoir to which he guided the waters 
of the New River, which the City of London still ex- 
clusively drinks, in 1613. Sir Hugh was a Welsh- 
man of great tenacity of purpose, persevering indeed 
with his role of Aquarius, in the face of opposition, 
until he had ruined himself. He then called in the 
assistance of James I, whose idea of help was to take 
half the New River shares, thirty-six in number, 
while the other half were sold to "adventurers." 
All that Sir Hugh got from it was an annuity of 
£100, to be paid also to his heirs. Latterly an 
adventurer's share was worth six figures. 

By the Royal Exchange are three statues. At 
the S.E. corner is Sir Rowland Hill (1795-1879), 
who founded uniform penny postage; at the N.E. 
corner is George Peabody (1795-1869), the Ameri- 
can philanthropist and erector of industrial dwell- 
ings; and in front is the Duke of Wellington, this 
being the City's memorial of the great man. 

King William Street has a statue of the monarch, 
William IV, who gave it his name. 

In Bread Street, Cheapside, where Milton was 
bom, is a bust of Milton. 

At the west end of Cheapside is a statue of Sir 
Robert Peel (1788-1850), statesman, looking, in 
profile, very like Charles Lamb. 

In Panyer Alley, which is the first narrow passage 
i[82] 




A MANSION IN PARK LANE. FROM HYDE PARK 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

between Paternoster Row and Newgate Street, is a 
quaint piece of sculpture preserved under glass, with 
a quainter inscription. The figure is of a naked 
boy seated on a basket or pannier. Hence Panyer 
Alley. He has a bunch of grapes in his hand. The 
inscription runs thus: 

"When ye have sought the city round 
Yet still is this the highest ground. 
August the 27 1628." 

Whether the statement is true, I cannot say. Messrs. 
Wheatley and Cunningham (who give the date as 
August 26th) make no comment. Mr. Page believes 
the highest point to be about Leadenhall Market. 

In Postmen's Park, at St. Botolph's, Aldersgate, 
is a statue of a grave bearded man in a long robe, 
beneath the words "The utmost for the highest." 
This is George Frederick Watts, the artist, who in- 
augurated the Roll of Honour that is preserved here. 

In St. Mary's churchyard, Aldermanbury, is a 
memorial to John Heminge and Henry Condell, 
friends of Shakespeare, who brought out the first 
collective edition of his works. A bust of the poet 
surmounts it.^ 

^ Other recent Shakespearean memorials are the tablet to 
Burbage at Shoreditch and the reclining figure of Shake- 
speare himself, in alabaster, in Southwark Cathedral, be- 
hind which the verger holds with much triumph a lighted 
taper, thus irradiating the poet with a gentle lambency. 

[83] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Another adjacent literary memorial is the statue 
of Milton in front of St. Giles's, Cripplegate, in Fore 
Street, the poet having been buried in this church. 

Opposite St. Paul's, which is, of course, a very 
treasure house of marble effigies and memorials, is a 
statue of Queen Anne. This was originally erected 
in 1712, but was so much at the mercy of any urchin 
with a defacing tendency (and all have it) that the 
first figure had to be removed and the present one 
set up in 1886. Queen Victoria is said to have been 
humorously annoyed when the exchange was made. 
"You'll be doing that to me some day," she re- 
marked. The earlier statue was rescued from the 
rubbish heap by the late Augustus Hare, author of 
Walks in London^ and moved to his grounds at Hast- 
ings, where probably it still is. 

The statue of Elizabeth Fry being indoors, it does 
not rightly come into this list; but as it is new, I 
mention it. It stands, larger than life, in the up- 
stairs hall of the new Old Bailey, which is built on 
the site of Newgate, the scene of her ministrations 
to the prisoners — the representation chosen by the 
sculptor being that of Gibson's well-known portrait, 
in which the philanthropic Quakeress (who could 
also be something of a dictator) is seen placid and 
beneficent in her grey silk and bonnet. A bas-relief 
illustrating her work in the prison is on each side of 
the pediment. 

[843 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

At Smithfield, in an arch of St. Bartholomew's 
Hospital, is a memorial to the Martyrs burned in 
the great square there, in 1555, 1556 and 1557, and 
particularly to John Rogers, John Bradford and 
John Philpot; and I might have noted above that 
not only is Milton buried in St. Giles's, Cripplegate, 
but John Foxe too, who wrote the martyrs' golden 
book. But the real memorial of the Smithfield 
Martyrs is in the church associated with them in 
St. John Street, not very distant, where all the sixty- 
six "Servants of God" are commemorated within, 
and many of them by statues and medallions on the 
outside walls. There are also bas-relief representa- 
tions of the terrible scenes. In fact, this church, 
which is quite modern, might be called an edition of 
Foxe in stone. To gain it one merely has to cross 
the Smithfield market through one of the avenues of 
carcases, in which flesh is almost less noticeable than 
the forests of steel hooks, and so into John Street. 
Memories of Edward FitzGerald may all unexpect- 
edly arise as one proceeds into Clerkenwell, for more 
than one street is named after Woodbridge, and 
there is a Sekforde Street too. Clerkenwell is now a 
city of small Early Victorian houses and the strong- 
hold of watchmakers and carpenters. Once it was 
fashionable, and the garden of Northampton Square, 
close to the Martyrs' church, was the garden of 

[85] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Northampton House, the London mansion of the 
Compton family. 

In Newgate Street, behind St. Bartholomew's 
Hospital, are new buildings belonging partly to the 
Hospital and partly to the Post Office, on an historic 
site where a statue or so might very reasonably have 
been placed. But not even a graven word did any 
one think it worth while to inscribe, saying that here, 
until very recently, stood Christ's Hospital, the Blue 
Coat School, among whose scholars were Samuel 
Taylor Coleridge and Charles Lamb. 

Four London worthies are to be seen on the build- 
ings at the corners of the bridge which carries Hol- 
born over Farringdon Street. These are Henry 
Fitz Aylwin (1189-1212), London's first Mayor; 
Sir Thomas Gresham (1519-1579), who founded 
the Royal Exchange; Sir William Walworth (d. 
1385), who killed Watt Tyler at Smithfield in 1381 ; 
and our friend Sir Hugh Myddelton. The four com- 
monplace statues on the Viaduct itself represent Art, 
Science, Agriculture and Commerce. 

At Holborn Circus is an equestrian statue of Al- 
bert the Good, the Prince Consort. The bas-reliefs 
illustrate typical scenes in the life of the Prince. In 
one he lays the foundation stone of the present Royal 
Exchange; in the other the Great Exhibition of 1851, 
of which he was the parent, is celebrated. 

Now, turning down St. Andrew's Street to Lud- 
[86] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

gate Circus, we find there two obelisks on which it is 
probable that not one out of every thousand of the 
ceaseless throng crossing here all day long could pass 
an examination. That on the southern island com- 
memorates the notorious John Wilkes, who was 
Lord Mayor of London in 1775, and the other, 
Alderman Robert Waithman, M.P., a notable City 
Father, whose great shawl shop was close by. 

Outside St. Dunstan's-in-the-West, in Fleet Street, 
is a statue of Good Queen Bess, removed from a 
niche on Lud Gate when, in 1829, old St. Dunstan's 
was pulled down and the two figures on the clock 
carried to St. Dunstan's House, Regent Park, where 
the blind soldiers now are. This statue of the Virgin 
Queen being then put up to auction fetched £16. 10s., 
and was presented to the new church. Such are the 
vicissitudes of monarchs in exile! Other royal 
statues known to have occupied London sites have 
been less fortunate. Thus, there was once a statue 
of Charles II in Soho Square. The last heard of it 
was that it had been moved to the grounds of the 
late Frederick Goodall, the R.A., at Harrow Weald. 
A statue of the Duke of Cumberland in Cavendish 
Square was taken down to be repaired in 1868 and 
never heard of again. The statue of George IV 
at King's Cross was, as I have said in the preceding 
chapter, broken up after nine years. 

The GrifHn in the centre of the road by the Law 

[87] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Courts marks the site of Temple Bar, which may 
now be seen, in its re-erected condition, in Theobald's 
Park. On the sides of the memorial are life-size 
statues of Queen Victoria and of King Edward VII 
when Prince of Wales. There are also medallion 
portraits of Prince Albert Victor and of Sir F. Trus- 
cott, the Lord Mayor in the year 1880, in which the 
memorial was erected, who got there only by the 
skin of his teeth, as the ceremony occurred on No- 
vember the 8th. The bas-reliefs represent the first 
Temple Bar, built of wood and destroyed in 1669; 
the last Temple Bar, designed by Sir Christopher 
Wren, finished in 1662-3 and removed in 1879; 
Queen Victoria's first visit to the City, through this 
gateway, in 1837; and the procession to St. Paul's 
on the Day of Thanksgiving for the Prince of 
Wales's recovery in 1872. How many Londoners 
have ever examined these bronze pictures'? 

At the back of St. Clement Danes Church is a 
statue of Dr. Johnson looking down Fleet Street; 
but it is insignificant, and unworthy as a memorial. 

In front of the same church is a statue of William 
Ewart Gladstone, with some charming attendant 
figures. 

If this record is to be complete, I shall mention 
here the ill-fated Opera House in Kingsway, on 
whose fagade the features of the American impre- 
sario, Oscar Hammerstein, who came and saw and 
[88] 




THE FIRST OF THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS 

BY ERIC GILL IN WESTMINSTER CATHEDRAL 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

was conquered, are carved in stone. This fine build- 
ing has been in turn opera-house, theatre, music hall, 
picture palace, the scene of public meetings, and the 
arena of a prize fight, and it is now a music hall 
again. One thing is very certain, and that is that 
London cannot afford two homes of grand opera. 
It does not even support one in the way in which 
Paris does. 

On the wall of Drury Lane Theatre is a bust of 
Sir Augustus Harris (1852-1896), for many years 
the lessee and manager of the theatre. In the lobby 
is a bust of that incomparable droll Dan Leno 
(1860-1904). 

Outside Charing Cross Station is a copy of the 
cross which marked one of the resting-places of the 
body of Queen Eleanor, wife of Edward I, on its 
way to the Abbey. The original cross was built in 
1291-94 of stone from Caen and marble from Corfe. 
Pulled down in 1647, the materials were used for 
paving Whitehall. A model at the London Museum 
shows how the cross looked in its isolation, before 
the days of ceaseless traffic and railways, some dis- 
tance from its present site, at the head of Whitehall. 
Proclamations were then read before it. There were 
twelve Eleanor crosses in all, of which only three 
remain. The most perfect is at Geddington in 
Northamptonshire; another is at Northampton; the 
third, and the nearest to London, is Waltham Cross. 

[89] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Any one visiting Temple Bar in Theobald's Park 
should see that cross too. Queen Eleanor, who died 
at Handley in Nottinghamshire, was brought to 
Westminster Abbey by way of Lincoln, Grantham, 
Stamford, Geddington, Northampton, Stony Strat- 
ford, Wobum, Dunstable, St. Albans, Waltham, 
Cheapside and Charing. The body resting at each 
of these places, each had a memorial. The new 
Charing Cross is only a conjectural replica of the 
old, for the data were not sufficient to make it exact. 
As a reconstruction of English thirteenth-century art, 
it is considered to be admirable. Each of the eight 
statues represent the Queen: in four as Queen, in 
four as an active Christian woman. 

The fine equestrian statue of Charles I facing 
Whitehall — the work of a Frenchman named Her- 
bert Le Soeur, a pupil of Giovanni di Bologna — ^has 
not lacked vicissitudes. Cast in brass in 1623, it 
was erected soon after, in the King's lifetime. But 
Parliament, having completed his execution, deemed 
itself the fitting owner of his statue and put it up 
for sale. It was bought by a brazier named John 
Rivet, who was told that as it had been sold merely 
as bronze, he must forthwith destroy it. This he 
promised to do; but, being a crafty fellow, his first 
action was to bury it safely in the earth, and his 
second to display a mass of broken bronze, which he 
declared represented the scrapped effigy. From this 

[90] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

material he made a vast number of knife handles, as 
souvenirs, not only for good Royalists, but also for 
triumphant Parliamentarians, and thereby amassed 
a fortune. At the glorious Restoration Mr. Rivet, 
as soon as he considered it safe and Charles II soundly 
established, bent his energies to the task of exhuma- 
tion, and in 1678 the statue was again set up where 
it now is, on a site determined by Sir Christopher 
Wren, and upon a new pedestal designed by Grinling 
Gibbons. A small but resolute band of Legitimists 
now lay a wreath at the foot of this statue every 
January 30th — for that is the day on which Charles 
I was beheaded. 

A story is told of Le Soeur to the effect that he 
was so confident of the perfection of the statue that 
he defied any one to name a single omission. Upon 
a critic pointing out that the saddle had no girth, 
he shot himself. Since a similar story has been told 
of the sculptor of the statue of George III in Cock- 
spur Street, we need not believe this. The present 
sword is a new one, the other being stolen during 
Queen Victoria's Coronation procession, when one of 
the stands for spectators was built round the statue. 
Subsequently it found its way to a museum, where 
its origin was catalogued with unblushing candour. 



[91] 



CHAPTER VI 

THE STATUES OF LONDON 
II. TRAFALGAR SQUARE AND THE MALL TO KENSINGTON 

The Nelson Column — The one lion — The four reliefs — 
General Gordon — George IV on horseback — Boer War 
memorials — Wellington on "Copenhagen" — Lord Byron 
— The Poets' Fountain — The dogs' cemetery — Friends of 
women — Edward Jenner — "Peter Pan" — Queen Victoria 
— The Albert Memorial — The Great Exhibition — A lit- 
tle boy lost — Kensington statues. 

THE Nelson Column was erected in 1840-43, 
and the statue, which is of stone and is eigh- 
teen feet high, was placed in position on November 
3-4, 1843. The sculptor was E. H. Bailey, R.A. 
The capital on which the statue stands is of bronze 
made from cannon recovered from the "Royal 
George" of which Cowper sang. The granite for the 
column and base came from Foggin Tor on the coast 
of Devon, the stone for the figure from Craigleith on 
the Buccleugh estate. A few days before the figure 
was set up, fourteen persons ate a dinner of rump 
steak on the summit. 

[92] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

The lions — or rather one lion multiplied four 
times — are the work of Landseer, and were added in 
1868. The great bronze pictures at the base repre- 
sent scenes in Nelson's life. That facing the Na- 
tional Gallery has for its subject the Battle of the 
Nile, and Nelson is seen, after being wounded in the 
head, nobly refusing any preferential aid from the 
surgeon. "No, I will take my turn with my brave 
fellows," said he. On the west side, facing Pall 
Mall, is the Battle of St. Vincent, where we see 
Nelson receiving the sword of the defeated Spanish 
admiral. On the east side, facing the Strand, is the 
Bombardment of Copenhagen, when Nelson seals a 
dispatch, and in the distance the city burns. On the 
south, facing Whitehall, is the last sad scene of all 
— the Death of Nelson. Beneath are the famous 
words, "England expects every man will do his 
duty." Could there have been a more fitting back- 
ground for the recruiting meetings which were held 
here daily during the War*? 

The statues in the square are of Sir Henry Have- 
lock, the great Indian Mutiny hero (1795-1857), 
erected largely by cheerful contributions from sol- 
diers; Sir Charles James Napier (1782-1853), the 
conqueror of Scinde; and General Gordon (1833- 
1885) . The panels on the base of the statue of Gen- 
eral Gordon, which is remarkable for its realistic ease 
of posture, so different from the ordinary stiffness 

[93]^ 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

of our bronze or marble figures, represent, on the east. 
Charity and Justice, and on the west, Fortitude and 
Faith. 

Here also, quite out of place among such great 
men, is George IV, on horseback, without stirrups. 
This statue was intended for the Marble Arch, which 
at that time stood in front of Buckingham Palace, 
and was not, as now, a gate leading to nowhere. 
The King himself ordered the statue and paid one- 
third of the cost ; but he did not live to see it finished. 
The corresponding pedestal, at the north-west comer 
of the square, is still vacant. I make no suggestion 
as to a suitable occupant. 

On the north side of the square are a series of 
standard measurements, from the land-chain of lOO 
feet down to inches. I have never seen any one 
making any use of them, but I suppose that some do. 

From Trafalgar Square we may take any of the 
roads and find statues in all of them. Let us go 
first along the new and imposing Mall, through the 
great gateway, known as the Admiralty Arch, which 
was erected as part of the memorial to Queen Vic- 
toria and King Edward. A little way along, on the 
left, we come to the group "erected by the officers 
and men of the Royal Marines in memory of their 
comrades who were killed in action or died of wounds 
or disease, 1899-1900," in the Boer War. A little 

[94] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

farther is the recent statue of Captain Cook (1728- 
1779), the great navigator and explorer. 

Behind this, at the left, at the back of the Ad- 
miralty, is the statue of James II which used to be 
in Whitehall and in profile is so like Sir Johnston 
Forbes-Robertson. Next, in the Mall proper, op- 
posite the Carlton steps, is a group "erected by offi- 
cers and men of the Royal Artillery in memory of 
their honoured dead in South Africa, 1899-1902." 

At the end of the Mall, opposite Buckingham 
Palace, is the memorial to Queen Victoria by Sir 
Thomas Brock with its attendant figures. The group 
representing motherhood, facing the Palace, is very 
sweet and natural, and I like the giant blacksmith 
who may be said to guard it. On the surrounding 
gateway pillars are symbols of the Colonies. 

Passing up Constitution Hillto Hyde Park, we 
come first to the new quadriga on the top of the arch 
at the west end of the Green Park. Here Peace, 
without any reins, drives her triumphal car. In the 
centre of the roadway opposite Hyde Park Corner is 
a statue of the Duke of Wellington, not the one orig- 
inally made for this locality, whidh, after dominating 
the old Green Park arch, was moved to Aldershot, 
but a smaller one. The statue commemorates not 
only the Great Duke but his horse "Copenhagen." 
The attendant soldiers are a 42nd Highlander, an 

[95] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Irish Dragoon, a Welsh Fusilier and a British Grena- 
dier. Khaki has thrown them all out of date. 

Just inside Hyde Park, at ,the comer, is the 
Achilles statue, a memorial to the Iron Duke from 
the women of England, cast from cannon taken at 
Salamanca, Vittoria, Toulouse and Waterloo. The 
figure is not Achilles, but it will always be called so. 

In Hamilton Gardens, to the right, is a statue of 
Lord Byron, who lived much in this neighbourhood. 
Trelawny, that sturdy old berserk, who had been 
intimate with Byron, went to see the statue and was 
disgusted with it. "It does not," he wrote, "in the 
remotest degree resemble Byron in face or figure." 

We find more and better poets close by, in Park 
Lane, where there is a Poets' Fountain, with statues 
upon it of Shakespeare, Chaucer and Milton, and 
figures representing Tragedy, Comedy and History. 
A figure of Fame surmounts the whole. (I might 
mention here that Chaucer has a memorial to him- 
self in the Old Kent Road.) 

At the head of Park Lane is that forlorn Marble 
Arch which, as I have said, was not only originally 
intended as a gateway to Buckingham Palace but was 
meant to be completed by an equestrian statue. 

Turning to the left along the Bayswater Road, 
or remaining in the Park and taking the inner road- 
way parallel to that, we come in time to Kensington 
Gardens; but before entering them let us peep into 

[96] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

a quaint little eiiclosure behind the lodge with the 
pretty window curtains at Victoria Gate, for this is 
a curious place — ^no less than the burial-place of hun- 
dreds of London's pet dogs. In A Wanderer in Paris 
I describe the dogs' cemetery at St. Ouen. The Bays- 
water Road cemetery is very different, for whereas 
the French tombs are often very costly and nearly 
always flamboyant, these are all to a minute pattern 
and of the simplest; but the same affection underlies 
both. When everything that can be urged against 
dog worship has been said of such a spectacle as these 
rows of marble graves with their tender inscriptions, 
and all the sarcasms have been levelled at the cir- 
cumstance, in a city not unfamiliar with poverty and 
hunger, that they are often supplied with fresh flow- 
ers, something rather beautiful remains. And one 
cannot but reflect that these epitaphs at any rate are 
sincere. No Spoon River Anthologist, even with a 
microscope, could find cynical discrepancies; one does 
not go to the expense of a memorial to a dog unless 
one means it. 

From the names on the headstones and the size of 
the tiny plots, one gathers that the lap dog, or toy 
dog, is the prevailing type, and that the love re- 
corded is that rather of woman than man. This, 
however, is natural, for London is no place for the 
larger and more enterprising species. Five minutes 

[97] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

under the trees in Kensington Gardens will, indeed, 
show what kind of little creatures lie here, for it is 
there that they frolic in life. To-day the companion 
is usually a Pekinese ; yesterday it was a pug. 

One stone has the single word "Scrapie," which 
is more vivid than much writing. I seem to see 
Scrapie as either an Aberdeen or a West Highlander, 
living up to his name as only those iniquitous Scots 
can do. "Kaiser" and "Schneider" also give away 
their breed; but for the most part the names tell 
nothing. 

I note a few of the inscriptions. "My Ruby 
Heart : seven years we were such friends." "Zeno, a 
faithful and devoted companion for thirteen years; 
Clytie, a sweet and affectionate companion for six- 
teen years." "In sorrowing memory of our sweet 
little Jack, most loving and most fondly loved." 
"Here lie two faithful creatures. Snap and Peter. 
'We are only sleeping, Master.' " "My Ba-Ba. 
Never forgotten, never replaced." "Joe Follett. 
Surely he was not a dog only: he was human." 
"Charlie and Bobs were lovely and pleasant in their 
lives, and in their death were not divided." "To 
the dear memory of Buffer. 

'Hearts growing older, 
Love never colder, 
Never forgotten shalt thou be.* '* 

[98] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

"To our gentle, lovely little Blenheim, Jane. She 
brought the sunshine into our lives; but she took it 
away with her." 

An odd commentary on life, these testimonies. 
Often, one feels, there must have been a lack of trust 
in human fidelity to have provoked such grief. The 
more some of these bereaved owners had seen of 
men . . . 

On leaving, I was informed by the lodge-keeper 
that this little plot being now congested, he has an 
annexe in Huntingdonshire, where over four hundred 
graves already have been filled. What a country for 
the ghost of a terrier — ^Huntingdonshire ! And this 
reminds me that among the Bayswater Road tombs 
is one at least of a cat — one cat among so many. 

Overlooking the ornamental water at the head of 
the Serpentine, in Kensington Gardens, is a statue 
of Edward Jenner (1749-1823), the first vaccinator. 
There was much uncertainty about the site for this 
memorial. For a while it was in Trafalgar Square; 
then it was moved and hidden away pending a de- 
cision, which caused Shirley Brooks to write in 
Punchy in the person of the dead investigator : 

"England, ingratitude still blots 

The escutcheon of the brave and free; 
I saved you many million spots, 

And now you grudge one spot to me." 

[99] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

On the other side of this ornamental water, in the 
very place where it ought to be, where nursemaids 
and their charges are always to be found, is "Peter 
Pan," Sir George Frampton's charming fantasy in 
bronze and stone from Sir James Barrie's book The 
Little White Bird^ an idyll of the Gardens. This is 
one of the prettiest statues in London, or anywhere. 
Note the little woodland creatures. While on the 
theme of fanciful sculpture, let me mention the naked 
imps riding sea horses on the top of the west facade 
of Somerset House. They are perfectly charming. 

Taking the diagonal walk which lies between the 
spires of the church at Lancaster Gate' and St. Mary 
Abbott's at Kensington, we see on our left the obelisk 
in memory of John Hanning Speke (1827-1864), 
the African explorer, and farther down the same 
cross-path George Frederick Watts's equestrian 
group called "Physical Energy." 

Opposite the east side of Kensington Palace is 
a seated statue of Queen Victoria, by the Duchess 
of Argyll (Princess Louise), with this inscription: 
"Victoria R. (1887). Here, in front of the Palace 
where she was born and where she resided until her 
Ascension, her loyal Kensington subjects erected this 
statue, the work of her daughter, to commemorate 
fifty years of her reign." 

Opposite the south front of the Palace is the 
[100] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

statue of William III, presented to King Edward VII 
and the British nation by the Kaiser. 

By the way, Kensington Palace now has, on the 
other side of the catenary hedge, a charming sunk 
formal garden with a rectangular pond in the midst 
and three most desirable old lead cisterns in that. 
But the most fascinating London garden is the new 
rock and water garden at Staple Inn, which is ab- 
solutely in the midst of offices. It speaks well for 
London's resources that this wholly gracious pleas- 
aunce should have been made during the War. For 
this pretty oasis the Society of Actuaries is to be 
thanked. 

Kensington Gardens also contain the very ornate 
Albert Memorial, the work of the great ecclesiastical 
architect Sir George Gilbert Scott (181 1-1878), who 
was knighted for it. Many sculptors and artists 
participated in the work. The Memorial was placed 
where it is, very carefully, in order to mark the site 
of the Crystal Palace, the great building of the 1851 
Exhibition, for the success of which the Prince Con- 
sort toiled so enthusiastically. The whole conception 
of the memorial was based upon the desire to com- 
memorate all the activities for which that Exhibition 
and its august promoter stood. Thus Painting, 
Sculpture, Architecture, Poetry and Music are sym- 
bolized, as well as the four quarters of the globe, 
Agriculture, Commerce, Engineering and Manufac- 

[101] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

tures. This was perhaps to try Art rather high, as 
the Americans say; but the Prince was eminently 
practical and direct, and his memorial fittingly per- 
petuates those qualities. The figure itself — which 
used to awe and fascinate the children of Kensing- 
ton, and possibly their nurses, by being wholly of 
gold, but has lately been scoured to modest bronze — 
is by the sculptor John Henry Foley (1818-1874). 
Other of Foley's London statues are John Stuart 
Mill on the Embankment and Sidney Herbert in 
Waterloo Place. 

The Great Exhibition was almost entirely the 
Prince Consort's project, and he wore himself out in 
his work upon it, for it produced insomnia, from 
which he never recovered. As it happened, it was a 
triumph. 

It is always too late to describe dead Exhibitions, 
but there is a passage in one of the letters of that 
great Londoner, Charles Dickens, which I should 
like to quote. Writing on July 11, 1851, he says: 
"I find I am 'used up' by the Exhibition. I don't 
say 'there is nothing in it' — there's too much. I've 
only been twice; so many things bewildered me. I 
have a natural horror of sights, and effusion of so 
many sights in one has not decreased it. I am not 
sure that I have seen anything but the fountain and 
perhaps the Amazon. It is a dreadful thing to be 
obliged to be false, but when any one says, 'Have 
[102] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

you seen T I say, *Yes,' because if I don't, I 

know he'll explain it, and I can't bear that. 

" took all the school one day. The school 

was composed of a hundred 'infants,' who got among 
the horses' legs in crossing to the main entrance from 
the Kensington Gate, and came reeling out from be- 
tween the wheels of coaches undisturbed in mind. 
They were clinging to horses, I am told, all over the 
Park. When they were collected and added up by 
the frantic monitors, they were all right. They were 
then regaled with cake, etc., and went tottering and 
staring all over the place; the greater part wetting 
their forefingers and drawing a wavy pattern on 
every accessible object. One infant strayed. He 
was not missed. Ninety and ftine were taken home, 
supposed to be the whole collection, but this particu- 
lar infant went to Hammersmith. He was found by 
the police at night, going round and round the turn- 
pike, which he still supposed to be a part of the Ex- 
hibition. He had the same opinion of the police, 
also of Hammersmith Workhouse, where he passed 
the night. When his mother came for him in the 
morning, he asked when it would be over? It was a 
great Exhibition, he said, but he thought it long." 

In Kensington High Street (we are now moving 
westwards) is a memorial to Queen Victoria, with a 
portrait medallion on a column of granite. Ken- 
sington Town Hall has busts of Charles Keene 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

(1823-1891), the Punch artist, who lived in the 
Hammersmith Road, and Leigh Hunt (1784-1859), 
who lived for a while in Edwardes Square, and wrote 
a history of Kensington under the title The Old 
Court Suburb. 

Opposite Holland House, close to the road, is a 
statue of Lord Holland (1773-1840), the nephew of 
Fox, and friend of countless men of eminence. The 
statue has a peculiar interest in being the joint work 
of G. F. Watts, whose home was close by, at Little 
Holland House, and Sir J. E. Boehm. 



[104] 



CHAPTER VII 

HOLLAND HOUSE AND SYDNEY SMITH 

Cope's Castle — The first Earl of Holland — Vicissitudes of 
a great house — Addison — The first Lord Holland — 
Charles James Fox — The third Lord Holland — Macau- 
lay's eulogy — Great talk — Lord Ilchester — Lady Holland 
— Hospitality and tyranny — Samuel Rogers — Lord Mel- 
bourne — Sheridan — Sydney Smith — Happy wit and 
sunny sagacity. 

HAVING seen this statue of the third Lord Hol- 
land, who, with his Lady, dispensed what was, 
I suppose, the most famous hospitality in England in 
the nineteenth century — and perhaps in any century 
— let us pause a while and consider the unique scene 
of those breakfasts, lunches, dinners and, above all, 
conversations. For Holland House is not only re- 
markable historically but has a second claim to at- 
tention in being the nearest country mansion to Lon- 
don. Caen Wood is, I suppose, the next. 

When we now say Holland House the words con- 
note its great social period, the Holland House of 
the Whig leaders and the wits : of Sheridan, Rogers, 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Sydney Smith, Luttrell, Macaulay and Moore. 
That is the Holland House which we see as we peer 
through the iron gates of Holland Walk, where Mr. 
Livens finds his picture, for it is little altered; but 
Holland House has a longer story than that. Built 
in 1607 by Sir Walter Cope, a Stuart courtier, and 
known as Cope's Castle, it was visited by James I 
in 1612, when Prince Henry lay dying. The King, 
it is recorded, found it very cold and slept badly. 
Cope's daughter married Henry Rich, son of the Earl 
of Warwick, who became Baron Kensington and 
Earl of Holland, and as a reward for being a good 
Royalist lost his head in 1649. At the London 
Museum we shall see the shirt of the man who be- 
headed him. Under this owner the house was en- 
larged and made magnificent. 

The Earl's execution complete, the Parliamentary 
generals Fairfax and Lambert occupied Holland 
House in turn, but it was then restored to Earl Hol- 
land's widow, who let it to various tenants. 

Literature comes in with Addison, who, marrying 
the widow of the Earl of Holland and Warwick, 
moved here in 1716, but is thought to have enjoyed 
neither matrimony nor the splendour of his wife's 
palace, for there is a story that he would creep away 
for simplicity and comfort to a neighbouring coffee 
house. At Holland House, in 1719, the great essay- 
ist breathed his last, after sending for his dissolute 
[106] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

stepson and bidding him see how a Christian could 
die. After the death of this scapegrace Holland 
House was again let to one or several tenants at a 
time, until it was sold to Henry Fox, the politician 
and paymaster-general, who was made first Baron 
Holland in 1763. 

Fox may not have been a scrupulous or very ad- 
mirable man, and his career was anything but spot- 
less ; but his title to fame is secure in having become 
the father of Charles James Fox, by his wife Lady 
Caroline Georgina, daughter of the Duke of Rich- 
mond, who was a grandson of Charles IL I mention 
the pedigree because it is interesting to keep in mind 
when one thinks of the great Whig statesman. The 
accident that Holland House was under repair pre- 
vented Charles James Fox from being born here, on 
January 24, 1749: the event occurred at a house in 
Conduit Street; but Holland House was his early 
home, and it was there that his fondly indulgent 
father paved the way to disaster by acceding to his 
every boyish caprice. 

Alluring as the theme is, this is not the place for 
a memoir of the most engaging figure in English 
politics. Sufficient for us that in Holland House is 
preserved a scene of his youth, to visit which makes 
Sir George Trevelyan's biography of the statesman 
even more fascinating than before. 

The first Lord Holland was succeeded in 1774 by 

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his eldest son, Stephen Fox, Charles James's brother 
and fellow-gambler, who, however, died almost im- 
mediately, to be succeeded by his only son, Henry 
Richard Fox, third Lord Holland (1773-1840), who 
was then only one year old. The child was brought 
up by his uncle Charles and his grandfather the Earl 
of Ossory, partly here and partly in the country. 
Into Lord Holland's political career and foreign 
travels there is no need now to enter. He is interest- 
ing to us chiefly as a host; but I might say that he 
was consistently a Whig, like his uncle, and exercised 
more influence at the meetings of his party here than 
at Westminster. He held many offices, and acquitted 
himself adequately rather than brilliantly in all. 
His own view of his career was modestly summed up 
in four lines found on his dressing-table after his 
death : 

"Nephew of Fox and friend of Grey, 
Enough my meed of fame 
If those who deigned to observe me say 
I injured neither name." 

It is ridiculous for a writer at this date to attempt 
to reconstruct Lord Holland when from the glowing 
lucid pen of one who knew him and was a constant 
guest at Holland House there is such an admirable 
eulogy. I refer to Lord Macaulay, who some years 
later was also to make his home on the same Ken- 

[108] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

sington hillside, at Holly Lodge. Macaulay writes 
thus in his Essays: "We have hitherto touched 
almost exclusively on those parts of Lord Holland's 
character which were open to the observation of mil- 
lions. How shall we express the feelings with which 
his memory is cherished by those who were honoured 
with his friendship? Or in what language shall we 
speak of that house, once celebrated for its rare at- 
tractions to the furthest ends of the civilized world, 
and now silent and desolate as the grave? To that 
house, a hundred and twenty years ago, a poet ad- 
dressed those tender and graceful lines, which have 
now acquired a new meaning not less sad than that 
which they originally bore. 

*Thou hill, whose brow the antique structures grace, 
Reared by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, 
Why, once so loved, whene'er thy bower appears, 
O'er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears? 
How sweet where once thy prospects fresh and fair, 
Thy sloping walks and unpolluted air ! 
How sweet the glooms beneath thine aged trees, 
Thy noon-tide shadow and thine evening breeze! 
His image thy forsaken bowers restore ; 
Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more. 
No more the summer in thy glooms allayed, 
Thine evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade.' 

"Yet a few years, and the shades and structures 
may follow their illustrious masters. The wonderful 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

city which, ancient and gigantic as it is, still con- 
tinues to grow as fast as a young town of logwood 
by a water-privilege in Michigan, may soon displace 
those turrets and gardens which are associated with 
so much that is interesting and noble, with the courtly 
magnificence of Rich, with the loves of Ormond, 
with the counsels of Cromwell, with the death of 
Addison. The time is coming when, perhaps, a few 
old men, the last survivors of our generation, will in 
vain seek, amidst new streets, and squares, and rail- 
way stations, for the site of that dwelling which was 
in their youth the favourite resort of wits and beau- 
ties, of painters and poets, of scholars, philosophers, 
and statesmen. They will then remember, with 
strange tenderness, many objects once familiar to 
them, the avenue and the terrace, the busts and the 
paintings, the carving, the grotesque gilding, and the 
enigmatical mottoes. 

"With peculiar fondness they will recall that ven- 
erable chamber, in which all the antique gravity of a 
college library was so singularly blended with all that 
female grace and wit could devise to embellish a 
drawing-room. They will recollect, not unmoved, 
those shelves loaded with the varied learning of many 
lands and many ages, and those portraits in which 
were preserved the features of the best and wisest 
Englishmen of two generations. They will recollect 
how many men who have guided the politics of 
[no] 



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HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

Europe, who have moved great assemblies of reason 
and eloquence, who have put life into bronze and 
canvas, or who have left to posterity things so writ- 
ten as it shall not willingly let them die, were there 
mixed with all that was loveliest and gayest in the 
society of the most splendid of capitals. They will 
remember the peculiar character which belonged to 
that circle, in which every talent and accomplish- 
ment, every art and science, had its place. They will 
remember how the last debate was discussed in one 
corner, and the last comedy of Scribe in another; 
while Wilkie gazed with modest admiration on Sir 
Joshua's Baretti; while Mackintosh turned over 
Thomas Aquinas to verify a quotation ; while Talley- 
rand related his conversations . with Barras at the 
Luxembourg, or his ride with Lannes over the field 
of Austerlitz. 

"They will remember, above all, the grace, and 
the kindness, far more admirable than grace, with 
which the princely hospitality of that ancient man- 
sion was dispensed. They will remember the vener- 
able and benignant countenance and the cordial voice 
of him who bade them welcome. They will remem- 
ber that temper which years of pain, of sickness, of 
lameness, of confinement, seemed only to make 
sweeter and sweeter, and that frank politeness, which 
at once relieved all the embarrassment of the young- 
est and most timid writer or artist, who found him- 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

self for the first time among Ambassadors and Earls. 
They will remember that constant flow of conver- 
sation, so natural, so animated, so various, so rich 
with observation and anecdote ; that wit which never 
gave a wound; that exquisite mimicry which en- 
nobled, instead of degrading; that goodness of heart 
which appeared in every look and accent, and gave 
additional value to every talent and acquirement. 
They will remember, too, that he whose name they 
hold in reverence was not less distinguished by the 
inflexible uprightness of his political conduct than 
by his loving disposition and his winning manners. 
They will remember that, in the last lines which he 
traced, he expressed his joy that he had done nothing 
unworthy of the friend of Fox and Grey; and they 
will have reason to feel similar joy, if, in looking 
back on many troubled years, they cannot accuse 
themselves of having done anything unworthy of 
men who were distinguished by the friendship of 
Lord Holland." 

One quotes the above passage with particular 
pleasure because the evil day foreshadowed by the 
writer is fortunately not in sight. The present owner 
of Holland House, Lord Ilchester, who is so happy 
as to possess that lovely tropical garden at Abbots- 
bury, near Weymouth, and the great swannery under 
the Chesil Beach, where myriad white wings dazzle 
the eye, sees to that. 
[112] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

The famous Elizabeth Vassall Fox, Lady Hol- 
land, was a daughter of Richard Vassall of Jamaica 
and was born in 1770. She became the wife of Sir 
Godfrey Webster of Battle Abbey when she was 
only sixteen. Eleven years later, in 1797, Sir God- 
frey obtained a divorce. Lord Holland being the co- 
respondent, and three days later Lady Webster be- 
came Lady Holland and began her splendid reign 
at Holland House, which had just been restored. It 
was this initial faux pas which to such a large extent 
determined the sex of the Holland House guests. 
Few women were to be found there. 

Lord Holland was kindly and thoughtful: sim- 
patico, as the Italians say. Lady Holland was ar- 
rogan and blunt, even at times rude; but she was 
generous and warm-hearted too, and she had the 
faculty of exciting her guests to be at their best, and 
there was a fascination about her which even those 
to whom she had been almost brutal could not forget. 
She could snub Macaulay and order Sydney Smith 
to ring the bell. ("And shall I then sweep the 
room*?" he replied, as he rose to obey her.) Lord 
Melbourne, after having his place at dinner changed 
more than once, and always for the worse (a favour- 
ite foible of hers), left the room with the words, 
*T11 be damned if Til dine with you at all." But 
every one came back. 

Samuel Rogers said excellent things of both host 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

and hostess. "Lord Holland," he once remarked — 
and it is a compliment that cannot often be paid, 
at any rate to gifted men — "Lord Holland always 
comes to breakfast like a man on whom some sudden 
good fortune has just fallen." Lord Holland, who 
returned the poet's regard, inscribed the following 
couplet on the summer-house in the garden: 

"Here Rogers sat, and here for ever dwell 
With me those Pleasures' which he sang so well" 

— the Pleasures being, of course, those of Memory. 
Of Lady Holland the old poet had not such a good 
opinion; and again the feeling was reciprocal. She 
once cut him short by the remark that since his poetry 
was bad enough, he might be more sparing of his 
prose; while to her, when once she complained that 
she was at a loss how to employ her time, he sug- 
gested that she might take up something novel — try 
to do a little good. Every one, however, like Lord 
Melbourne, forgave and carne back, for Holland 
House was unique; and to have the entree and not 
use it was to forgo too much. 

In which room, one wonders, standing here, did 
Sheridan sleep? — always taking a bottle of wine and 
a book to bed with him: as Lady Holland told 
Moore, "the former alone intended for use." A 
servant had to be on duty outside the door all night 

[114] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

to see that he did not set light to the bed curtains. 
In the morning, Moore tells us, he breakfasted in bed 
and had a little rum or brandy in his tea or coffee ; 
made his appearance between one and two; and then, 
pretending important business, he used to set out for 
town, but regularly stopped for a dram at the Adam 
and Eve public-house, an inn opposite the grounds, 
where he ran up a long score which Lord Holland 
had to pay. 

Of all its frequenters in these latter days I am 
personally most drawn to that wise, witty and very 
good man, Sydney Smith, who not only was a valued 
friend of both Lord and Lady Holland but some 
kind of connexion by marriage, his brother Bobus's 
wife being Lord Holland's aunt. Sydney Smith and 
Lady Holland also had their differences, but he 
understood her thoroughly, and some of his best 
letters were written to her, from 1807 to the end. 
She survived him only a few months. From the 
letters to Lady Holland I take a few characteristic 
passages : 

"My lot is now fixed and my heritage fixed, — 
most probably. But you may choose to make me 
a bishop, and if you do, I think I shall never do you 
discredit ; for I believe it is out of the power of lawn 
and velvet, and the crisp hair of dead men fashioned 
into a wig, to make me a dishonest man ; but if you 

[115] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

do not, I am perfectly content, and shall be ever 
grateful to the last hour of my life to you and to 
Lord Holland." 

"We have admitted a Mr. Baring, importer and 
writer, into the King of Clubs, upon the express 
condition that he lends £50 to any member of the 
Club when applied to. I proposed the amendment 
to his introduction, which was agreed to without a 
dissenting voice." 

"My life for the summer is thus disposed of: — I 
walk up and down my garden, and dine at home, 
till August; then come my large brother and my 
little sister; then I go to Manchester, to stay with 
Philosopher Philips, in September; Homer and Mur- 
ray come to see me in October, then I shall go and 
see the Earl Grey; then walk up and down my gar- 
den till March." 

"I hear you laugh at me for being happy in the 
country, and upon this I have a few words to say. 
In the first place, whether one lives or dies, I hold, 
and have always held, to be of infinitely less moment 
than is generally supposed; but if life is to be then 
it is common sense to amuse yourself with the best 
you can find where you happen to be placed. I am 
not leading precisely the life I should choose, but 

[116] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

that which (all things considered, as well as I could 
consider them) appeared to me to be the most eligi- 
ble. I am resolved, therefore, to like it, and to 
reconcile myself to it; which is more manly than to 
feign myself above it, and to send up complaints by 
the post, of being thrown away, and being desolate, 
and such like trash. I am prepared, therefore, either 
way. If the chances of life ever enable me to emerge, 
I will show you that I have not been wholly occupied 
by small and sordid pursuits. If (as the greater 
probability is) I am come to the end of my career, I 
give myself quietly up to horticulture, etc. In short, 
if it be my lot to crawl, I will crawl contentedly; 
if to fly, I will fly with alacrity; but, as long as I can 
possibly avoid it, I will never be unhappy. If, with 
a pleasant wife, three children, a good house and 
farm, many books, and many friends, who wish me 
well, I cannot be happy, I am a very silly, foolish 
fellow, and what becomes of me is of very little con- 
sequence." 

"I shall be extremely happy to see , and will 

leave a note for him at the tavern where the mail 
stops, to say so. Nothing can exceed the dulness of 
this place; but he has been accustomed to live alone 
with his grandmother, which, though a highly moral 
life, is not an amusing one. There are two Scotch 
ladies staying here, with whom he will get ac- 

[117] 



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quainted, and to whom he may safely make love 
the ensuing winter: for love, though a very acute 
disorder in Andalucia, puts on a very chronic shape 
in these northern latitudes; for, first, the lover must 
prove metapheezically that he ought to succeed ; and 
then, in the fifth or sixth year of courtship (or rather 
of argument), if the summer is tolerably warm, and 
oatmeal plenty, the fair one is won." 

"I have been long intending to write you a letter 
of congratulation. There is more happiness in a 
multitude of children than safety in a multitude of 
counsellors; and I, if I were a rich man, I should 
like to have twenty children." 

"I am sure it is better for Lord Holland and you 
to be at Holland House, because you both hate exer- 
cise (as every person of sense does), and you must 
be put in situations where it can be easily and pleas- 
antly taken." 

"How very odd, dear Lady Holland, to ask me to 
dine with you on Sunday, the 9th, when I am com- 
ing to stay with you from the 5th to the I2th ! It is 
like giving a gentleman an assignation for Wednes- 
day, when you are going to marry him on the preced- 
ing Sunday, — an attempt to combine the stimulus 
of gallantry with the security of connubial relations. 

[118] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

I do not propose to be guilty of the slightest infidelity 
to you while I am at Holland House, except you dine 
in town; and then it will not be infidelity, but spir- 
ited recrimination." 

Since I have taken the motto for this book from 
Sydney Smith, let me enrich these pages by giving 
a little more of his smiling wisdom here. For this 
purpose I quote some of the less known of his happy 
thoughts, from an assemblage brought together at 
the end of the memoir of him which his daughter 
(another Lady Holland, as it chanced: the wife of 
Sir Henry Holland, the physician) wrote. His wit, 
as some one said, was always fresh, always had the 
dew on it; and here are some of his home-circle jew- 
els, for he was sunny and amusing also domestically, 
as not all brilliant people are : 

"I think breakfasts so pleasant because no one is 
conceited before one o'clock." 

"Never teach false morality. How exquisitely 
absurd to tell girls that beauty is of no value, dress 
of no use I Beauty is of value ; her whole prospects 
and happiness in life may often depend upon a new 
gown or a becoming bonnet, and if she has five grains 
of common sense she will find this out. The great 
thing is to teach her their just value, and that there 

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must be something better under the bonnet than a 
pretty face for real happiness. But never sacrifice 
truth." 

"Children are excellent physiognomists, and soon 
discover their real friends. Luttrell calls them all 
lunatics; and so, in fact, they are. What is child- 
hood but a series of happy delusions *?" 

"When I hear the rustics yawn audibly at my 
sermons, it reminds me of that observation of Lord 
Ellenborough's, who, on seeing Lord gape dur- 
ing his own long and dull speech, said, 'Well, I must 

own there is some taste in that, but is not Lord 

rather encroaching on our privileges?' " 

"We are told, 'Let not the sun go down on your 
wrath.' This of course is best; but, as it generally 
does, I would add. Never act or write till it has done 
so. This rule has saved me from many an act of 
folly. It is wonderful what a different view we take 
of the same event four-and- twenty hours after it 
has happened." 

"Once, when talking with Lord on the sub- 
ject of Bible names, I could not remember the name 
of one of Job's daughters. 'Kezia,' said he immedi- 
ately. Surprised, I congratulated him upon being 
[120] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

so well read in Bible lore. 'Oh !' said he, 'my three 
greyhounds are named after Job's daughters.* " 

"It is like a Frenchman's explanation; they never 
give you credit for knowing the commonest facts. 
C'est toujours, 'CommenQons au deluge.' My heart 
sinks when a Frenchman begins, 'Mon ami, je vais 
vous expliquer tout cela.' A fellow-traveller once 
explained to me how to cut a sandwich, all the way 
from Amiens to Paris." 

"True, it is most painful not to meet the kindness 
and affection you feel you have deserved and have 
a right to expect from others; but it is a mistake to 
complain of it, for it is of no use ; you cannot extort 
friendship with a cocked pistol." 

On some one of his guests lamenting they had 
left something behind: "Ah.*^" he said, "that would 
not have happened if you had had a screaming gate." 
"A screaming gate? what do you mean, Mr. Smith?" 
"Yes, everybody should have a screaming gate. We 
all arrived once at a friend's house just before dinner, 
hot, tired and dusty, — a large party assembled, — 
and found all the keys of our trunks had been left 
behind; since then I have established a screaming 
gate. We never set out on our journey now without 
stopping at a gate about ten minutes' distance from 

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the house, to consider what we have left behind : the 
result has been excellent." 

" 'Did you ever hear my definition of marriage? 
It is, that it resembles a pair of shears, so joined 
that they cannot be separated; often moving in op- 
posite directions, yet always punishing any one who 
comes between them.' " 

"*I see you will not believe it, but I was once 
very shy.' 'Were you indeed, Mr. Smith? how did 
you cure yourself?' 'Why, it was not very long 
before I made two very useful discoveries : first, that 
all mankind were, not solely employed in observing 
me (a belief that all young people have) ; and next, 
that shamming was of no use; that the world was 
very clear-sighted, and soon estimated a man at his 
just value. This cured me, and I determined to be 
natural, and let the world find me out.' " 

" 'Oh yes! we both talk a great deal, but I don't 
believe Macaulay ever did hear my voice,' he ex- 
claimed, laughing. 'Sometimes, when I have told 
a good story, I have thought to myself, Poor Macau- 
lay! he will be very sorry some day to have missed 
hearing that.' " 

"Oh, those sisters were all so beautiful, that Paris 
could not have decided between them, but would 
have cut his apple in slices." 
[122] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

"All gentlemen and ladies eat too much. I made 
a calculation, and found I must have consumed some 
waggon-loads too much in the course of my life. 
Lock up the mouth and you have gained the victory." 

"I remember entering a room with glass all round 
it, at the French Embassy, and saw myself reflected 
on every side. I took it for a meeting of the clergy, 
and was delighted, of course." 

"There is the same difference between their 
tongues as between the hour and the minute hand; 
one goes ten times as fast, and the other signifies ten 
times as much." 

"I think no house is well fitted up in the country 
without people of all ages. There should be an 
old man or woman to pet ; a parrot, a child, a mon- 
key: — something, as the French say, to love and to 
despise. I have just bought a parrot, to keep my 
servants in good humour." 

"If you want to m^ke much of a small income, 
always ask yourself these two questions: — first, do 
I really want it? secondly, can I do without it? 
These two questions, answered honestly, will double 
your fortune. I have always inculcated it in my 
family." 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

"Lady is a remarkably clever, agreeable 

woman, but Nature had made one trifling omission 
— a heart; I do like a little heart, I must confess." 

*1t is Bacon, I think, who says so beautifully, 
*He that robs in darkness breaks God's lock.' How 
fine that is I" 

"People complain of their servants: I never had 
a bad one; but then I study their comforts, that is 
one recipe for securing good servants." 

"I destroy, on principle, all letters to me, but I 
have no secrets myself. I should not care if almost 
every word I have written were published at Charing 
Cross. I live with open windows." 

On returning to the drawing-room, he usually 
asked for a little music. "If I were to begin life 
again, I would devote much time to music. All 
musical people seem to me happy; it is the most 
engrossing pursuit; almost the only innocent and 
unpunished passion." 

"Never give way to melancholy: nothing en- 
croaches more; I fight against it vigorously. One 
great remedy is to Take short views of life. Are 
you happy now? Are you likely to remain so till 
[124] 



HOLLAND HOUSE— SYDNEY SMITH 

this evening? gr next week? or next month? or next 
year? Then why destroy present happiness by a 
distant misery, which may never come at all, or you 
may never live to see it? for every substantial grief 
has twenty shadows, and most of them shadows of 
your own making." 

'*No man, I fear, can effect great benefits for his 
country without some sacrifice of the minor virtues." 

" 1 wish sometimes that I were a Scotchman, to 
have people care about me so much.' " 

" 'The Americans, I see, call me a Minor Canon. 
They are abusing me dreadfully to-day. They call 
me Xantippe; they might at least have known my 
sex; and they say I am eighty-four. I don't know 
how it is,' said he, laughing, 'but everybody who 
behaves ill to me is sure to come to mischief before 
the year's out. I am not angry with them; I only 
say, I pity you, you are sure to suffer.' " 

" 'Do you not like the country ?' 'I like London 
a great deal better; the study of men and women, 
better than trees and grass.' " 



[125] 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE STATUES OF LONDON 
III. WATERLOO PLACE AND LEICESTER SQUARE 

The College of Physicians — Famous doctors — William 
Hunter — Captain Scott — The York Column — Soldiers of 
the Mutiny — The Crimea Memorial — Florence Nightin- 
gale — Sidney Herbert — Leicester Square — Baron Grant 
— Sir Henry Irving. 

AT the north-west corner of Trafalgar Square, 
in Pall Mall East, is the Royal College of 
Physicians, with three statues on its imposing portico. 
These are Thomas Linacre (1460*?- 1524), the phy- 
sician and grammarian, who founded the College in 
1518; Thomas Sydenham (1624-1689), one of its 
brightest ornaments; and William Harvey (1578- 
1657), familiar also in stone to visitors to Folke- 
stone, where he was born, who holds in his hand a 
human heart to indicate his interest in the circulation 
of the blood. 

Within this grave and dignified building are por- 
traits of famous doctors, many of them by eminent 

[126] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

hands. Thus, * Hogarth's Dr. Fothergill is here. 
Here also is Pope's Dr. Arbuthnot by Mr. Jervas, to 
both of whom, physician and painter, the poet ad- 
dressed an epistle. Harvey is here again; and here 
are five generations of the Monro family, including 
the Dr. John Monro, the patron of Turner and Var- 
ley, whom we shall meet in the Adelphi ; while more 
modern healers are Sir Richard Quain, by Millais, 
and Sir Andrew Clark, who kept Mr. Gladstone in 
good health. 

The picture which I have chosen for reproduction 
is Zoffany's representation of William Hunter lec- 
turing on anatomy in the Royal Academy, with Sir 
Joshua among his audience, holding the famous ear- 
trumpet. Reynolds also painted him, but the two 
portraits at the College of Physicians are both by 
Zoffany. William Hunter (1718-1783) was the 
elder brother of the more famous John, whom we 
meet in Chapter IX, and, like him, was a great 
anatomist and collector. John Hunter left his 
museum to the College of Surgeons; William left 
his to the University of Glasgow. 

Farther along Pall Mall East we come to the 
little equestrian statue of George III in his tiny wig, 
such a contrast to his mammoth son and horse in 
the square we have just left. 

Waterloo Place provides us with many memorials. 
Turning to the left from Pall Mall, we come first to 

[127] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

the very recent statue of Captain Scott ( 1868-1912), 
the gallant and ill-fated Antarctic explorer, erected 
by officers of the Fleet and executed by Lady Scott. 
On the pediment are these words from the last entry 
in his diary: "Had we lived, I should have had a 
tale to tell of the hardihood and endurance and 
courage of my company which would have stirred 
the heart of every Englishman. These rough notes 
and our dead bodies must tell the tale." 

We come next to Colin Campbell, Lord Clyde 
(1792-1863), the Field-Marshal, who fought both in 
the Crimea and the^ Indian Mutiny. 

Next is John Laird Mair Lawrence, first Lord 
Lawrence (1811-1879), Ruler of the Punjab during 
the Mutiny, and later Viceroy. He is here asking 
the question, "Will you be governed by the sword 
or the pen?" 

Then, at the end of Waterloo Place, at the head 
of the steps, is the York Column. This fine memorial 
to a Prince who did little to deserve it was erected 
by public, if not voluntary, subscription; for since 
the Duke of York, who was George Ill's second son, 
was Commander-in-Chief of the British Army, it 
was thought a tactful thing to stop every man's pay 
for one day in order to provide the funds. As a poet 
in The Satirist said, at the time of its completion : 

"Small reason have the Royal Family 
Their kinsman's new position to deolore: 

[128] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

He now stands higher in the public eye 
Than he was ever known to stand before!" 

The statue, of bronze, is fourteen feet high. Stairs 

lead to the gallery, but no one now ascends them. 

In 1850 a French musician flung himself over the 

railing and was killed. 

On the other side of the square are statues of Sir 
John Fox Burgoyne ( 1782-1871), the great engineer 
commander in the Peninsula, in France and in the 
Crimea; and Sir John Franklin (1786-1847), the 
Arctic explorer, who, like Scott, perished amid the 
snows. On the panels are the names of his crews, 
and a bronze relief depicts his burial in the ice. 

In tlie middle of the square is an equestrian statue 
of Sir Robert Cornelis Napier (1810-1890), Lord 
Napier of Magdala, one of the heroes of the Indian 
Mutiny. 

On the other side of Pall Mall, also in Waterloo 
Place, is the memorial to the three regiments of 
Guards who fell in the Crimea, with some actual 
Russian guns stacked upon it. Referring to the 
wording of this memorial. Punch had, in 1861, a 
vigorous attack. After proving that the Guards 
lost altogether only 449 men by ordinary warfare, 
the remaining 1713 having died of disease, it sug- 
gested that instead of Alma, Inkerman and Sebasto- 
pol, should be inscribed Fever, Dysentery and Chol- 

[129] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

era. John Bright, passing the memorial, once 
pointed to the word Crimea, remarking that the last 
letter should be transposed to be the first. 

Before the Crimea memorial now stands the statue 
of Florence Nightingale ( 1820-1910), "The Lady of 
the Lamp," only lately erected, at the end of her long 
and beautiful life. Beside her is Sidney Herbert, 
Lord Herbert of Lea, whose statue has been moved 
here from the front of the old War Office. It could 
not be more fittingly placed, for as War Minister 
during the Crimea he was Miss Nightingale's close 
friend and associate. His administration of the War 
Office, during more than one period of control there, 
was thoughtful, humane and finely imaginative. 
Had he not died early, at only fifty-one, he might 
have attained a very high eminence in the country. 
Gladstone once remarked, in a letter to Lord Hough- 
ton, "I wish some one of the thousand who in prose 
justly celebrate Miss Nightingale would say a single 
word for the man of 'routine' who devised and pro- 
jected her going [to Russia] — Sidney Herbert." 
Well, the proximity of the two statues now says this 
word. 

In St. James's Square, close by, prancing in sil- 
houette before all wayfarers along Charles Street, 
is an equestrian statue of William III. 

The statue of Shakespeare in Leicester Square, to 
which we may now turn, is connected with a strange 
[130] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

character, Baron Grant, the prince of company-pro- 
moters. This astute person was the discoverer of 
those most susceptible and gullible of investors, the 
parson and the widow. Others have since exploited 
them, but Grant was the illustrious pioneer. In a 
few years he extracted as much as £4,000,000 from 
the public at large, his greatest coup being the Emma 
Silver Mine in 1871, which was to pay £800,000 a 
year on a capital of a million and was fully sub- 
scribed at a premium at £20 a share. Grant was paid 
£100,000 for his trouble, and the shareholders re- 
ceived one shilling each. It was with part of the 
Emma promotion money that Grant acquired Lei- 
cester Fields, a deserted and unsavoury area. This 
he converted into a trim garden, and in 1874 P^^" 
sented it to London, with Shakespeare in the middle 
— replacing there a battered statue of George II — 
and, at the corners, busts of former residents there 
or thereabouts — Sir Joshua Reynolds, William Ho- 
garth, Sir Isaac Newton, and John Hunter, the sur- 
geon. Meanwhile, in spite of the failure of various 
rosy schemes. Grant, such was the effrontery or per- 
suasiveness of the man (he was born in Dublin), 
continued to take a high position in public affairs, 
sat twice for Kidderminster, entertained lavishly, 
and owned a newspaper. The Echo, which as far 
back as 1874 ^^ brought out every morning at a 
halfpenny. 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

It was shortly after the gift of Leicester Square 
that the tide of fortune ebbed from his doorstep. 
Lawsuits began, bankruptcy proceedings followed. 
His pictures were sold, his palace at Kensington was 
depleted, and he retired into seclusion, dying at Bog- 
nor in Sussex a forgotten man, in 1899. Such was 
the splendid Grant, whose real name was Gottheimer, 
and who acquired his Barony from the King of Italy. 

A few steps from Leicester Square, down Green 
Street, is the fine statue of Sir Henry Irving (1838- 
1905) under the wall of the National Portrait 
Gallery. 

A few steps beyond that, on an island between 
the Gallery and Chandos Street, the memorial to 
Nurse Edith Cavell, who was shot by the Germans 
in Brussels, will stand. 



[132] 



CHAPTER IX 

JOHN hunter's museum 

"That Great Hunter" — Skulls from everywhere — A 
crowded life — Uncompromising dogmatism — The resur- 
rection men — Charles Byrne, the Irish giant — Jonathan 
Wild — The Sicilian dwarf — The human form in detail. 

WE have seen John Hunter's bust; we have seen 
the picture of his brother William lecturing 
to the Royal Academicians; we have been very near 
his home. 

In Lincoln's Inn Fields, on the southern side, or 
that opposite the Soane Museum, is that amazing 
Golgotha, the Museum of the College of Surgeons, 
which Hunter founded. As I entered, the sun was 
shining, and children were playing in the gardens. 
A few steps, and in the midst of life I was in death. 
On all sides were skulls and skeletons: skeletons by 
the hundred, skulls by the thousand. Skulls from 
every quarter of the glove in grinning rows. Skulls 
with all their teeth, skulls with half their teeth, 
skulls with no teeth. Skulls English and skulls 
Polynesian. What a railway terminus and a Babel 
will this be when the Last Trump blows ! 

[133] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Immediately on entering the room one is con- 
fronted by another bust of the genius of the place, 
"that great Hunter," the father of modem surgery 
and, I suppose, the greatest surgeon of all time. Be- 
side the bust is his death mask, and for once the two 
have resemblances. You see instantly the strength 
and purpose of the man; for it is the face of one who 
could hew his way to the top and would never be 
satisfied with hearsay. John Hunter's museum, 
formed by him patiently and with enthusiasm, in his 
own house and its dependencies, between 1763 and 
1793, is the nucleus of the present collection, and 
that recurring problem which assails us when we 
contemplate the careers of great men: How could 
they find time to do it all? is here clamorous. For 
Hunter, an uneducated Scotch boy, not only rose to 
be the mightiest surgeon in history, but he wrote an 
immense number of monographs on various branches 
of research, all based on personal experiment; he 
gave countless lectures ; he performed operations and 
carried out the duties of a member of the hospital 
staff; and he did not really begin the constructive 
part of his life until his return from soldiering in 
Portugal thirty years before his death. 

Much of the secret is genius; the rest, as usual, is 
method, for he rose as early as five to begin dissect- 
ing, and at midnight was often still at work. At 
nine he breakfasted ; he received patients till twelve ; 

[134] 



JOHN HUNTER'S MUSEUM 

he visited patients till four; he dined at four; hq 
slept an hour after dinner; and for the rest of the 
day he wrote, dictated, or made experiments. Some- 
where or other he found odd minutes in which to 
carry on disputes; to be a husband and father; to 
crack a few very broad jokes and to damn the Radi- 
cals. "All rascals who are dissatisfied with their 
country ought to leave it," he would say. But what 
his views would have been with regard to that be- 
wildering creature the conscientious objector of our 
own day, who has no disinclination to participate in 
the benefits ensured to his country by an army and 
navy, while refusing to join either, I dare not imag- 
ine ; but immensely vigorous, I am sure. He died in 
1793, through excitement brought on by loss of 
temper at a debate at St. George's Hospital, his 
heart having long been affected. He lies in West- 
minster Abbey. 

Hunter was born in 1728, and it illustrates the 
youth of surgery as a serious art, and the remarkable 
genius of this great investigator, practitioner and 
theorist, to recollect that it was not until 1745* when 
he was seventeen years old, that the surgeons and 
barbers, till then allied, parted company. Ever 
since then the surgeons have been rising in the social 
scale and the barbers descending. No barber is ever 
knighted; few surgeons of eminence escape the 
honour. 

[135] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

For the most part, the skeletons and skulls that 
throng here are those of unknown persons; and for 
the English ones at any rate Hunter was chiefly 
indebted to the resurrection men, without whose 
services the surgeons and medical scholars of his day 
would have had difficulty in pursuing their dissec- 
tions. But now and then he bought a body during 
the lifetime of its owner. Thus, the huge frame of 
Charles Byrne, the Irish giant, in the case to the left 
as one enters, was acquired in this manner. Byrne, 
like most giants, was short-lived, two-and-twenty 
years representing his earthly span. But his end was 
not their usual natural decline due to the failure of 
the organs to sustain so mighty a carcass — he was 
eight feet four inches high — ^but was brought about 
by potations immoderate even for him, and by grief 
at the loss of notes for £700, the proceeds, I imagine, 
of exhibiting himself either at fairs or on the stage. 
He was, for example, the sensation of London in 
1782, at the Haymarket, where a pantomime was 
written round his many inches. Byrne's remains 
cost Hunter more than he had paid for anything in 
his collection, and even then he had to fight for his 
property, for Byrne, after agreeing to the bargain, 
made a will directing that his body was to be put 
on a ship and sunk at sea. Hunter, however, who 
was a difficult man to beat, bribed the undertaker, 
removed the body from the hearse, transferred it to 

[136] 




THE SISTERS (THE DAUGHTERS OF SIR T. FRANKLAND) 

AFTER THE PICTURE BY HOPPNER IN THE TENNANT GALLERY 



JOHN HUNTER'S MUSEUM 

his own carriage, and bore it triumphantly to his 
house at Earl's Court and an acid bath. 

The most interesting thing about Jonathan Wild's 
skeleton, which stands next to Byrne's, is not so 
much that it is his, as that it is the skeleton of a 
man who was hanged. The body and head were 
long separated, but they are likely now to remain 
united for many years. The hanging of the famous 
thief, fence and informer was on August 24, 1725, 
at Tyburn. All Byrne's teeth are in his head; none 
of Wild's remain. Near Byrne, completing a 
strangely ill-assorted trio, is the skeleton of a little 
lady nine years of age and nineteen inches in height, 
the Sicilian dwarf, Carolina Grachami. Of such is 
the variety of human nature ! But an even greater 
variety awaits one before the tour of the galleries 
is complete, in an assemblage of monstrous births, 
among which is the most perfect hobgoblin that even 
the combined pencils of Fuseli and Blake could have 
devised. 

It is a terrible place, this museum — downstairs, 
bones of every animal, from man to megatherium; 
upstairs, jars by the million, or so it seems, each con- 
taining a human organ in spirits for the eager eye 
of the medical student to examine and remember. 
Once I could not have remained here without a feel- 
ing of sickness; but now that death has become al- 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

most the rule, and our best and bravest are three a 
penny, it all seemed natural. I came away conscious, 
it is true, that there was not a sound inch in my 
body; but that I have since forgotten. 



[138] 



CHAPTER X 

THE STATUES OF LONDON 
IV. WESTMINSTER AND THE EMBANKMENT 

Four Prime Ministers — Queen Anne — Oliver Cromwell — 
Baron Marochetti — Boadicea — London's architects — 
Honour where honour is due — The Houses of Parlia- 
ment — The National Gallery — The Record Office — The 
Westminster Guildhall — The Embankment Valhalla — 
Cleopatra's Needle — ^An eventful voyage. 

STARTING from Trafalgar Square and passing 
down Whitehall, we find, in the middle of the 
road, an equestrian statue of the late Duke of Cam- 
bridge (1819-1904), whom many persons will ever 
remember, in his milijtary capacity, as the Field- 
Marshal who once hoisted an umbrella at a review. 

At the corner of Horse Guards' Avenue is a statue 
of the late Duke of Devonshire (1833-1908), better 
known in politics as the Marquis of Hartington. A 
little farther down on the left is a new statue of 
Lord Clive (1725-1774), the great Indian Admin- 
istrator. 

In Parliament Square, in the centre garden, are 

[139] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

statues to Sir Robert Peel (1788-1850), whom we 
also saw in Cheapside, Lord Palmerston (1784- 
1865), Lord Derby (1779-1869), with reliefs on the 
pedestal of various oratorical or diplomatic triumphs, 
and Lord Beaconsfield (1804-1881) — all Prime 
Ministers and all very splendid either in robes or 
frock coats. George Canning (1770-1827) is in the 
garden between the Square and the Westminster 
Guildhall. The memorial at the corner of Great 
George Street, close by, marks the abolition of the 
British Slave Trade in 1807 and the further abolish- 
ing of slavery in the British Dominions in 1834. 

If we were to go down Great George Street and 
come to Queen Anne's Gate, we should find, on the 
left, outside No. 13, a statue of the royal lady who 
gives this fascinating street of noble doorways its 
name, in a richly brocaded dress. Of this attractive 
work of art little is known, but Francis Bond is 
generally thought to be the sculptor. In the days 
when Westminster was a separate and superstitious 
city it was believed that on the anniversary of her 
death Queen Anne walked three times up and down 
the street. Personally I would, in spite of this 
haunting, as soon live in Queen Anne's Gate as any- 
where in the more central parts of London. But 
Smith Square and North Street have begun to run 
it close as an abode of peace and preciosity. 

I may mention here that the corner house, on 
[140] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

the opposite sjide to Queen Anne, is that to which, 
before the War, Lord Glenconner invited persons 
who were interested in good pictures of the great 
days of the British school. That he will resume 
this pleasant hospitable custom when the world is 
itself again I most cordially hope. Two or three of 
the gems of the Tennant Gallery, as it was called, 
are reproduced in this book. 

The memorial in Broad Sanctuary commemorates 
Lord Raglan and other old Westminster scholars 
who fell in the Crimean War. The statue of Crom- 
well, outside Westminster Hall, with the British 
lion at his feet, is by Hamo Thornycroft, and was the 
gift of Lord Rosebery, a Government plan for erect- 
ing one having failed. The House of Lords did not 
wish the Protector to be allowed so near the sacred 
precincts, but its opinion was disregarded. 

Cromwell has his back to Westminster Hall, where 
Charles I was tried and sentenced. Before him is 
the Abbey, where he was first buried and then shame- 
fully exhumed so that his bones might hang in chains 
at Tyburn. 

Farther on, by the House of Lords, is a gigantic 
equestrian statue of Richard Coeur de Lion, with 
bronze reliefs of his death-bed and one of his vic- 
tories. The sculptor was Baron Carlo Marochetti 
( 1805-1867), an Italian, or rather Piedmontese, who 
fled to England in the revolution of 1848, was taken 

[141] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

up by the Prince Consort, and became an R.A. The 
Coeur de Lion statue, in plaster, was a prominent 
attraction of the Great Exhibition of 1851, and it 
was cast in bronze by public subscription. 

In the garden under the Victoria Tower is Rodin's 
famous bronze group of the Burghers of Calais. 
This powerful and pathetic work illustrates very 
vividly a story in the career of Edward III. During 
that king's war with France, and after he had won 
Crecy, he laid siege, in 1347, to Calais, and made 
his blockade so thorough that after some weeks the 
French army retreated and the garrison surrendered. 
On August 3rd a deputation — the burghers of Calais 
— came from the town with bare heads, carrying 
the key of the citadel, and gave themselves up to the 
King in person. His intention had been to destroy 
the populace, but at the entreaty of his queen, 
Philippa of Hainault, their lives were spared. Their 
valuables, however, he confiscated. 

If from Westminster we seek the Embankment 
we shall find at the corner of Westminster Bridge 
the great Boadicea in her chariot, by Thomas 
Thornycroft. Beside her are two retainers, and, 
without reins, she urges on her fiery steeds against 
the Roman invaders. The wheels have the famous 
scythes. 

On the fagade of New Scotland Yard is a bust of 
Norman Shaw (1831-1912), the architect who 
[142] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

turned this building from an opera house into the 
headquarters of the Police. This bust distinguishes 
Shaw as one of the very few architects of whom 
London, which exists by virtue of them, takes any 
notice. There is no bust of Bentley in the West- 
minster Cathedral, although he died while working 
upon it; nor is there any bust of George Edmund 
Street (1824-1881) at the Law Courts, his minute 
labours on which are said to have hastened his end, 
and for which with his own hand he made no fewer 
than three thousand drawings. There is no outdoor 
statue of Wren, nor of Inigo Jones, nor of Gibbs, 
who built St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. 

This reluctance to give honour where honour is 
due is really rather ignoble. ' Who knows the name 
of the architect of these beautiful Houses of Parlia- 
ment close by? How to find out except by a work 
of reference not too easily obtained? The architect 
of the Houses of Parliament was Sir Charles Barry 
(1795-1860), and the jewels of oratory never had 
a richer casket. But the Reform Club in Pall Mall 
is, by some, considered to be Barry's masterpiece, 
none the less. The architect of the National Gal- 
lery was William Wilkins (1778-1839), who had 
previously built University College in Gower Street, 
which has a family resemblance to it. The portico 
came from Carlton House, the home of the Prince 
Regent, and the original idea was that steps should 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

lead right down to the level of the fountains in Tra- 
falgar Square. But the roadway in front of the Gal- 
lery being deemed a necessity, this fine effect had to 
be sacrificed. The building was subsequently modi- 
fied by Edward Middleton Barry, son of Sir Charles. 

Who was the architect of what, to me, is one of 
the most stately and beautiful of London's buildings, 
which, were it anywhere but hemmed in by Chancery 
Lane and Fetter Lane, would be famous among 
visitors — the Record OfRce^ Sir James Pennethorne 
(1801-1871), whose design provided for a better 
site, with one of those vistas which London so 
grudges. Who was the architect of what is, to me, 
the best of the many new buildings of London 
erected in these last ten years — the Westminster 
Guildhall, which is adjacent to us as we stand here 
fighting for justice? None has to my eyes such 
charm as this civic stronghold, of which Mr. Livens 
has made a drawing. As a whole and in detail it 
is a most satisfying work of art. Here the answer 
is simpler, for by a curious chance the name of the 
architect has found its way to the tablet of municipal 
magnates beside the south door — Mr. J. G. Gibson. 
The reliefs and statues are the work of Mr. Henry 
C. Fehr. Note the quaint figures who sprawl over 
every lower window, trying to peep in. 

For a long while to come it can hardly be our 
civil benefactors that will receive public honours. 

[144] 




A TYPICAL LONDON DEMOLITION SCENE 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

The military must come first. But I hope that a 
day may dawn when the builders of London are 
properly recognized. 

In the Victoria Embankment Gardens, which are 
between the Houses of Parliament and Charing 
Cross Bridge, are three statues. The first is of Wil- 
liam Tyndale, the translator of the New Testament 
into English from the Greek. He was strangled to 
death and then burned, at Brussels, in 1536. The 
printing press in this work of art, which is by Boehm, 
was copied from one in the Plantin Museum at Ant- 
werp. The second statue here is that of Sir Bartle 
Frere (1815-1884), the South African and Indian 
Administrator; and the third is that of Sir James 
Outram (1805-1863), who -was called the Bayard 
of the British Army and ought really to be in Water- 
loo Place with other heroes of the Indian Mutiny. 

Opposite the Outram statue, on a pier beside the 
Charing Cross Bridge, on the river side, is a medal- 
lion of Sir Joseph Bazalgette (1819-1891), engineer 
of the London main drainage system and of the 
Embankment. On the corresponding pier on the 
other side of the Bridge is a memorial to Sir William 
Schwenck Gilbert ( 1836-191 1 ), author of the Savoy 
operas and the Bab Ballads. Charming figures of 
Comedy and Tragedy attend, and the inscription 
says, "His foe was folly and his weapon wit." Sir 
George Frampton was the sculptor. 

[145] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

In the gardens between the Charing Cross under- 
ground station and Waterloo Bridge are to be found 
a statue of Robert Bums the poet, seated rapt; a 
statue of Sir Wilfrid Lawson, the temperance advo- 
cate (1829-1906); and one of Robert Raikes 
( 1 735- 1811), the founder of Sunday Schools. Here 
are busts of Sir Arthur Sullivan (1842-1900), the 
composer of the Savoy operas, attended by a weeping 
woman; and Henry Fawcett (1833-1884), the blind 
statesman. Another memorial of Henry Fawcett, 
a statue, is in Vauxhall Park, near his old home, now 
demolished. 

On a pier to the west of Waterloo Bridge, oppo- 
site Savoy Street, is a medallion of Sir Walter Be- 
sant (1836-1901), the novelist and London topog- 
rapher. And somewhere hereabouts is a memorial 
to William Thomas Stead (1849-1912) the jour- 
nalist, who went down with the "Titanic," but I 
have not seen it. Just past Somerset House is a 
statue of Isambard K. Brunei (1806-1859) the 
engineer, son of the designer of the Thames Tunnel 
and himself the constructor of the Clifton Suspen- 
sion Bridge. 

In the gardens between the Temple Station and 
the foot of Essex Street are a seated statue of John 
Stuart Mill (1806-1873) the philosopher, and a 
standing statue of William Edward Forster (1818- 
1886), the Irish Secretary. On the railings of the 

[146] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

Temple Gardens is a tablet bearing a medallion 
portrait of Queen Victoria, marking the western 
boundary of the city. At the end of the Embank- 
ment, by Blackfriars Bridge, is a statue of Queen 
Victoria. 

Finally, there is Cleopatra's Needle, which never 
thought, we may be sure, to find a resting-place be- 
side the Thames. Its original home was at Heliopo- 
lis, where Thothmes III set it up about 1500 b.c. 
With Cleopatra it had nothing to do. From Heli- 
opolis the monolith was taken to Alexandria, still 
in the b.c. period, and there again set up, outside a 
heathen temple. British soldiers found it lying in 
the sand in the Egyptian Campaign a century and 
more ago, and Mehemet Ali presented it to us, just 
as he presented a similar obelisk in the Place de la 
Concorde to the French; but although great efforts 
were made by the troops under Sir David Baird, 
when they had nothing else to do, to move it to the 
vessel prepared for it, they could not manage it. 

Little more was done to claim the gift until forty 
years ago, when a public-spirited enthusiast arose 
in the person of William James Erasmus Wilson 
(1809-1884), the famous surgeon and skin-specialist, 
who offered to pay the cost of bringing it to Eng- 
land — a matter of some £15,000. The business was 
not simple, and the means adopted was to rivet an 
ironclad around the Needle where it lay, and then 

[147] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

drag it to the water and tow it to London. A vessel 
called the "Olga" acted as tug, and the voyage be- 
gan on September 21, 1877. In the Bay of Biscay, 
the usual weather prevailing, the Needle had to be 
cut adrift, but not until six lives were lost. It 
would be safe to offer a prize of any magnitude to 
that person who could name these six heroes. Let 
me give them: William Askew, James Gardiner, 
Joseph Benbow, Michael Bums, William Donald 
and William Paton. I know them because they are 
writ in brass on the river facade of the Needle's 
pediment. 

Not only were these men drowned, but the Needle 
was lost too. Some while later, however, the strange 
craft was sighted and secured, and on January 16, 
1878, another start was made, and on January 28 
the Thames was safely entered and the Needle 
docked. Eight months afterwards it was in its 
present position, and not long afterwards a worthy 
City Father was delivering an oration upon it, in 
which he delighted his hearers first by referring to 
the great Queen always as Cleopatrick, and next by 
deriving "monolith" from two Greek words, namely 
mono^ a stone, and — and — Uth, 

The two attendant sphinxes, which are male, are 
of course modern. 



[148] 



CHAPTER XI 



THE OVAL 



The Surrey side — The Oval and Lord's: a contrast — The 
last match of the year — Lord Harris's cherries — Surrey's 
beginnings — A parson poet — Lumpy to the rescue — The 
Montpelier Club— Mr. William Denison— The first Sur- 
rey Club match — Two scores — The cement banks — 
Weather lore — Famous cricketers. 

THESE are sad days in which to write of 
cricket. For cricket was the first English pas- 
time to be hit by the Kaiser's arrogance and ambi- 
tion; and Surrey was, if I am not mistaken, the first 
county in that fateful August of 1914 to abandon 
its further matches and cease to think of play. But 
no book on London can neglect the Oval ; and a good 
time is coming; and every one who loves cricket 
loves also cricket's past. So let us, in spite of War 
and that melancholy and ever-increasing death-roll 
of stalwart batsmen and bowlers whom we have 
rejoiced so recently to see in their prowess, and shall 
never see again — let us linger a little in the famous 
Kennington gjround where Surrey plays the great 

[149] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

game, and the loyal Surrey crowd flinches neither 
from sun nor wind as it watches and applauds. 

To thousands of Londoners who live north of the 
river the only transpontine resort is the Oval. I am 
of this number. How rarely we cross the river, 
except in trains on our way to the coast or to the 
southern counties, it is absurd to think. But to the 
Oval, in one of the great County Council dread- 
nought trams, which start from the Embankment 
(where we now are), or in the friendly taxi after 
lunch, or by that convenient Tube which disgorges 
its eager passengers only a few yards from the chief 
gates, how often do we hasten ! 

The difference between an Oval crowd and a 
Lord's crowd is immense. Being nearer the fashion- 
able areas, and having the Eton and Harrow match 
and the Oxford and Cambridge match, those 
favoured opportunities for the modiste, Lord's has 
not only a cricket public but a butterfly public. 
And this means not only awnings and comfort but a 
more careful standard of male attire too. The Oval 
crowd is far liker a football crowd. It is almost 
wholly composed of men, and men who must earn 
their living, and their keenness is not only far more 
articulate than any at Lord'sy but greater too. In- 
deed it must be so, or they would not stand for 
hours, as they can in August, on the surrounding ce- 
ment banks, with no shade whatever, or welcome in 

[150] 



THE OVAL 

the new season, on an Easter Monday, as I have seen 
them, in a breeze direct from the North Pole; and 
how some of them can see at all is a mystery, for 
the Oval is far larger than Lord's, there being a 
possibility (I have often seen) of making 5, all run, 
in at least two parts of the ground. But, as I say, 
the Oval crowd is not to be dissuaded, either by 
weather or by discomfort, and the packed roof of 
the neighbouring inn, between the overpowering 
gasometers and the Pavilion, gives the scene just 
that old-fashioned touch that is so agreeable. Some- 
thing of the kind one has noticed in old prints of 
prize fights in the days of Cribb, or of Newmarket 
Heath before all the modern mechanical devices 
came in and S.P. were still meaningless initials. 

The pavilion is different too; which is only 
natural, for the pavilion at Lord's is the Houses of 
Parliament of cricket, whereas the pavilion at the 
Oval is merely the pavilion of a county ground. 
But hardly less interesting are its pictures and rec- 
ords; and one of the pictures, a fascinating early 
match painted by George Morland, I am glad to 
be able to reproduce in this book. 

One reason which endears the Oval to me is that 
the season dies harder there than elsewhere. That 
last big match of the year, when the September 
hazes have begun, between the champion county 
and the rest of England, is always played on the 

[151] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Surrey ground, and I always try to be present. I 
have too the pleasantest recollections of Gentlemen 
V. Players matches at the Oval, because Lord Harris 
always sends a huge basket of Kentish Whitehearts 
to cheer this event, and these, through a fortunate 
acquaintance with two or three famous hands who 
have of late been participators, I have had the fe- 
licity of tasting. There are notoriously no cherries 
like them. 

Kennington Oval existed long before it was a 
cricket ground, and Surrey existed as a cricket county 
long before that. Surrey indeed took to cricket as 
early as any county, except, I suppose, Hampshire, 
where the Hambledon Club was. One of the first 
matches recorded in Lillywhite's Scores and Biog- 
raphies (the best of all books) is between Surrey 
and Kent on the Laleham-Burway ground at Chert- 
sey in 1773. The match was so memorable that 
the Vicar of Sundridge, the Rev. J. Duncombe, cele- 
brated it in ballad in the manner of Chevy Chase. 
No other literature of the game gives a better idea 
of the fun and want of scientific precision about the 
game in those early days. To a large extent the 
interest seems to have centred in wagers on the re- 
sult, between the Earl of Tankerville, who played 
for Surrey, and Sir Horace Mann, who played for 
Kent. Surrey won. Says the reverend poet: 

[152] 



THE OVAL 

"Of near three hundred notches made 
By Surrey, eight were byes ; 
The rest were balls which, boldly struck, 
Re-echoed to the skies." 

At the end of his poem the Vicar reverted to type 
and worked in a moral: 

"God save the King, and bless the land 
With plenty and increase; 
And grant henceforth that idle games 
In harvest-time may cease." 

Surrey seems to have been beaten in the return 
match, this time at Sevenoaks; but Lillywhite does 
not give it. Later in the year they met yet again, 
at Canterbury, and Surrey again won. On the first 
and third occasions, at any rate, Surrey had the 
famous Lumpy to help them; and a poem composed 
on the third conflict said roundly that 

"Surrey did the victory gain 
By Lumpy, fortune, art and rain." 

After this the next mention of Surrey by Lilly- 
white is on July 2o, 1774, when, with the assistance 
of the borrowed Minshull, they played the Hamble- 
don Club and lost — this borrowing of one or two 
men, to equalise the sides, being very common in 

[153] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

those days. In the next recorded match, Surrey, 
against the Hambledon Club, again at Chertsey, 
on July 6, 7 and 8, 1775, had the services of Miller 
as well as Minshull. Surrey won. On the 13th 
of July a return began, at Hambledon, which Ham- 
bledon won by 296 runs. J. Small was the hero; 
for in the second innings he carried his bat for 136. 
— So much for the beginnings of Surrey cricket. 

The present ground dates from 1845, when, in 
March, the first turf of the ground that we now 
know was laid. Before that it had been for long an 
open space, partly field and partly market garden. 

The Montpelier Club, the principal South Lon- 
don Cricket Club, which had played its matches on 
the Bee-Hive Ground, in Walworth, being turned 
out by the builders, decided in 1844 to move to the 
Oval. Early in 1845 a meeting was called to con- 
sider the future, over which Mr. William Ward, 
whom we meet in the Lord's chapter, presided. 
Among those present was the great Felix. Another 
of the company was William Denison, who wrote 
an informing book entitled Sketches of the Players. 
At this meeting it was decided that the Montpelier 
Club should disappear and a Surrey Club be formed. 
Later in the year a second meeting was held at the 
Horns Tavern, which is still a famous house, pre- 
ceded by a dinner. On this occasion the late Lord 
Bessborough, who is known in cricket annals as the 

[154] 



THE OVAL 

Hon. Frederick Ponsonby, took the chair; and the 
merging of the Montpelier Club into the Surrey Club 
was practically settled, seventy members of the old 
club enrolling themselves in the new. 

For a while the Surrey Club did not prosper, 
owing to various difficulties with the lessees of the 
ground, but in 1857 a smoother course was secured 
and thenceforward all went well. The first real 
pavilion was built in 1858, and in that year Surrey, 
with Sussex to help, beat England twice. One of 
the players, William Caffyn, is still living as I 
write (April, 1916). Of more recent history it is 
unnecessary to speak. 

A word or two of William Denison, the first 
secretary of the Surrey Club, whose Sketches of the 
Players appeared in 1846. A cricket enthusiast of 
the deepest dye, he was described by Lord Bess- 
borough, in a letter to Bishop Montgomery, whose 
History of Kennington has some most attractive 
chapters on cricket and Surrey cricket, as "the best 
bowler in the Montpelier Club, the first man who 
had the pluck to bowl round arm slows in good 
matches." Denison was otherwise a Times reporter 
on law and parliament, and a cricket journalist, and 
so busy a man could hardly do justice to the require- 
ments of a new club in not too prosperous circum- 
stances. From the dedication of his book to the 
Noblemen and Gentlemen of the M.C.C. one gathers 

[155] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

that he had his feuds. He writes: "It has, I hear, 
been asked, how it comes to pass that I should have 
presumed to arrogate to myself, as the parties have 
termed it, the privilege of suggesting alterations in 
the rules by which the game is regulated, thus as- 
suming a knowledge of their working superior to 
the majority of those who have for many years taken 
an active part in its practice; and therefore I shall, 
I trust, be pardoned, if I state the position I have 
held in cricket since 1813. In that year it was 
solicited that I (at the period a lad) should be per- 
mitted, in the absence of a good player, to play 
in a match at Richmond between the 'Counties of 
Middlesex and Surrey.' The permission of the 
Reverend Gentleman under whose tutelage I then 
was, having been accorded, I made my appearance, 
then, as now, a slow howler^ in the 'Surrey Eleven.' 
From that day to the present I have devoted the 
largest portion of my unoccupied time to cricket, 
and from the year 1816 there has been no season in 
which I have not witnessed nearly every match of 
importance, nor in which I have not been a playing 
member of four and frequently of nine clubs, and 
even at the present moment I remain an active par- 
ticipator in five. The consequence then was, that 
being attached to the game, and compelled, by the 
state of my health, to resort to strong out-of-door 
exercise, I have probably witnessed, played in, and 

[156] 



THE OVAL 

contributed to, in a pecuniary sense, a greater num- 
ber of matches than any one who is now to be found 
in the cricket ranks. The result has been, that there 
is no class of match, high or low, in which I have 
not constantly been engaged. Moreover, it has 
been a portion of my public duty to contribute 
articles on cricket, and to attend and write notices 
of matches for the Press, since 1820." 

As an afterthought to the dedication comes this 
amusing P.S. — "In answer to a remark which I 
overheard at Lord's last summer, 'that Mr. Denison 
could not know much about the game, because he 
obtained so few runs,' I beg to suggest that the dis- 
location of an elbow, met with at cricket, and an 
impaired vision, arising not merely from surgical 
operations, for I have had eleven on one eye, but an 
average of bed of not quite four hours per night, for 
twenty-six years, are somewhat calculated to spoil a 
man's sight for hitting. Some years back, and for 
many years, there were few gentlemen whose batting 
or bowling average stood better." 

Although the turf had been so recently laid — 
about four acres in the middle — the Oval was played 
on in 1845. The first recorded match is that be- 
tween the Montpelier Club and Clapton on July 17. 
It was unfinished. The second Oval match recorded 
by Lillywhite, between the Montpelier Club and 

[157] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Lingfield, on July 28, 1845, was a draw. A match 
with a more modem sound is that on August 21 and 
22, 1845, Gentlemen of Surrey v. Players of Surrey, 
which was also a draw. On September 24, 1845, 
a Surrey Eleven played Middlesex. The first Surrey 
Club match was on May 25 and 26, 1846, at the 
Oval, against the M.C.C. The M.C.C. won. I 
give this score, as it is of historic interest: 



AT KENNINGTON OVAL, IN SURREY 

May 25 and 26, 1846 



MARYLEBONE 



First Innings 



Second Innings 



A. K. George, Esq., c Strahan, b 
Brockwell 

A. Haygarth, Esq., b Martingell 

W. Hillyer, c and b Brockwell . 

R. Kynaston, Esq., b Martingell . 

W. Lillywhite, b Martingell . 

W. Nicholson, Esq., b Martingell 

F. L. Currie, Esq., b Martingell . 

W. B. Trevelyan, Esq., c Strahan, 
b Brockwell 

L. H. Bayley, Esq., not out . 

E. Banbury, Esq., b Martingell . 

W. Franks, Esq., absent . 



B 2, w o, n I 



o I b w, b Lewis 

4 b Martingell . 
13 c Baker, b Lewis 

o b Martingell . 

5 run out . 
4 not out . 

13 c Denison, b Lewis 



II b Martingell 

2 b Lewis 

4 b Brockwell 

o b Brockwell 

3 B 4, w I, n 2 



12 
o 
o 
6 
6 

13 
2 

4 
13 
o 
o 
7 



[158] 



Total . 58 



Total 



63 



THE OVAL 

SURREY CLUB 
First Innings Second Innings 

J. Spencely, Esq., i b w, b Hillyer $ c Nicholson, b Lilly- 
white 3 

T. C. Lewis, Esq., st Nicholson, 

b Hillyer 4 b Hillyer . . . . o 

W. Baker, Esq., b Hillyer . . o c George, b Lillywhite 11 

N. Felix, Esq., c and b Hillyer . 9 b Hillyer .... 6 

C. Coltson, Esq., not out ... 9 b Hillyer .... i 

W. Martingell, c Currie, b Hillyer i st Nicholson, b Hillyer i 

G. Brockwell, b Hillyer ... 5 b Hillyer . . . . o 

C. H. Hoare, Esq., b Lillywhite . i c Lillywhite, b Hillyer 5 

C. Meymott, Esq., c and b Hillyer o not out 4 

W. Strahan, Esq., b Lillywhite . o b Lillywhite . . . o 
W. Denison, Esq., c Nicholson, b 

Lillywhite 3 c Currie, b Hillyer . i 

Bi, wo 1B4, wo.... 4 



Total . 37 Total . 36 

M.C.C. winning by 48 runs. 

It may here be mentioned that Mr. Lewis played in this 
and several other matches about this time under the name 
of Courtney, Mr. Meymott also under that of Maries, and 
Mr. Banbury under the name of Edmonds. 

Umpires — J. Bayley and W. Caldecourt. 

The A. Haygarth, Esq., was the editor of Lilly- 
white's Scores and Biographies. 

The Oval, belonging as it does to the Duchy of 
Cornwall, and therefore to the Prince of Wales, 
such servants of the Crown as soldiers, sailors and 

[159] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

postmen are admitted free. In 1851 a very serious 
attempt was made to get the ground for building 
purposes, but it was resisted mainly through the 
action of the Prince Consort, who was administering 
the estate for his son. This fact should be em- 
blasoned on the Albert Memorial. 

I have mentioned the raised cement banks that 
surround the Oval and give a view to all. They 
were made by the contractors who undertook the 
draining, or rather hiding within pipes, of the river 
Effra, which, until 1880, ran by the side of the 
Oval into the Thames at Lambeth. When it was 
removed from sight the excavated earth was piled 
all round the ground and cemented over. The 
Chelsea football ground, whither the King and a 
vast number of his loyal subjects, including myself, 
journeyed a few winters ago to see an American 
baseball match, obtained its high banks in a similar 
way, for they are made of the earth excavated for 
the London Tube railways. 

The first County match at the Oval which Lilly- 
white gives is on June 25 and 26, 1846. Here we 
meet more great names: 

AT KENNINGTON OVAL, IN SURREY 

June 2$ and 26, 184.6 

KENT 
First Innings Second Innings 

A. Mynn, Esq., i b w, b Day . 8 b Mardngell . . . o 

,[i6o] 



THE OVAL 



C. G. Whittaker, Esq., b Martin- 

gell o c Martingell, b Day 5 

T. Adams, c Bayley, b Martingell 38 c and b Martingell . 8 

F. Pilch, b Day 4 c Heath, b Day . . 3 

W. Dorrinton, b Martingell . . i c Heath, b Day . . o 

W. Hillyer, b Day ..... 5 c Martingell, b Day 3 

E. Hinkly, i b w, b Martingell . 6 not out 8 

W. Carter, b Day o c Day, b Martingell . o 

E. Banks, Esq., not out . . . 13 c Heath, b Day . . 24 

L. Hollingworth, Esq., b Day . 3 c Bayley, b Martingell o 
W. Banks, Esq., c Martingell, b 

Day o b Day o 

B 4, w o, n I (Martingell i) 5 B 3, w 2 (Day 2), n o 5 

Total . 83 Total . 56 



SURREY 

First Innings Second Innings 

G. Brockwell, run out .... 7 not out 1 

A. M. Hoare, Esq., c Hinkly, b 

Mynn 59 

T. Sewell, c Carter, b Mynn . . 3 

N. Felix, Esq., c Adams, b Mynn o 
W. Martingell, c W. Banks, b 

Hinkly 7 

J. Heath, hit w. b Hillyer ... 15 

R. Groom, run out 2 not out ..... 2 

D. Day, b Hillyer 19 

E. Garland, Esq., b Mynn . . o 
C. H. Hoare, Esq., not out . . . o 
J. Bayley, b Mynn 6 

B 13, w 6 (Mynn 4, Pilch 2) 19 B i, w o . . . . i 

Total .137 Total . 4 

Surrey won by ten wickets. 

[161] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

One little piece of special Oval lore I can impart. 
Near Vauxhall Bridge Station there is a church, and 
this church has an open space, or unglazed window, 
in its spire. If the light through this window, as 
seen from the Pavilion, is clear, there will be no 
rain; but if one can only just see through it, rain 
is likely. 

Every one has his favourite county ground mem- 
ories. Among the later ones of mine, at the Oval, 
is that innings of deadly resistance and care by Mr. 
Fry which saved England from Australia in the last 
test match rubber. Another is a hit by Mr. V. F. 
S. Crawford on to the roof of the pavilion. And 
I can see again Richardson sending down one of 
his terrific bailers, and Hobbs's effortless boundaries, 
where the bat became a shining blade, and Hay- 
ward's gentle strokes for one as he grew older and 
found running less to his taste. But the most in- 
spired cricketer of the Oval in our time was George 
Lohmann. 



[162] 



CHAPTER XII 

THE LONDON MUSEUM 

Stafford House — A Zeppelin bomb — The conserving soil — 
Old wines — Sir William Pickering — A Tudor plutocrat 
— Cromwell relics — Brandon the headsman — Old cos- 
tumes — Victorian jewels — A royal parasol — Signboards 
— Old London in cardboard — Two Thomsons — A vis- 
ionary's London. 

WHEN A Wanderer in' London was published, 
in 1906, there was no London Museum. 
Shortly afterwards a collection of relics was brought 
together in Kensington Palace, and these have now 
been permanently arranged at Stafford House, given 
to the nation for that purpose by Sir William Lever. 
Stafford House, one of the private palaces be- 
tween the Green Park and St. James's, was built for 
the Duke of York, son of George III, the not too 
illustrious Prince to whom English flunkeyism 
erected the column at the foot of Waterloo Place. 
At his death, before the house was ready, the Duke of 
Sutherland bought it, and here were hung the fa- 
mous Stafford House pictures, now distributed. As 

[163] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

a home for London curiosities the building is admir- 
able but not very elastic; already it seems to be 
fully stocked. By a nice stroke of irony the first 
thing that one sees in the fine hall at the foot of the 
imposing staircase, up and down which so many 
notable men and beautiful women have passed, is a 
Zeppelin bomb aimed at the destruction of the very 
city whose history is here celebrated. 

The course of the pilgrimage through the Museum 
is prescribed by the regulations, and one must follow 
it. We are first in the city prehistoric, what time 
mastodons were its principal inhabitants; and in- 
stantly we realise how flexible a term London is, for 
the mammoth's bone, which is one of the most ex- 
citing relics here, comes from as far afield as Ilford. 
Then we pass to the ages of stone and bronze and 
are assisted towards the realisation of those early 
eras by Mr. Forestier's drawings, wherein Londoners 
in skins and Londoners in woad are seen earning 
their livelihood more picturesquely, if not with less 
determination, than Londoners in black coats and 
tall hats at the present day. One thing is certain, 
and that is that modem London is built on ancient 
London, and ancient London was built on a London 
still older; for it is the soil that has yielded all the 
treasures. Mother Earth is the best archaeologist. 
From foundations at Copthall Court, for example, 
the home to-day of stockbrokers, comes a bronze 

[164] 



THE LONDON MUSEUM 

shield; from the Old Bailey a rhinoceros's tooth; 
from Lombard Street a Roman wine jar. A little 
statuette of Hercules hails from Grocers' Hall Court, 
nor was it mislaid there by a modern collector, but 
was brought thither from his home in Italy by one 
of our conquerors under Julius Csesar — ^possibly in 
the capacity of what our modern soldiers call a 
mascot. — Such relics as these make the long history 
of London very vivid. 

The assemblage of articles gathered at Stafford 
House is so diverse that every visitor must find 
something of interest as one leaps backwards and 
forwards among the centuries. And interest can be 
capricious too. A case of wirie labels in the wonder- 
ful silver room, for example, by reason of the un- 
familiarity of the vintages may remain in the mem- 
ory longer than many more intrinsically worthy 
matters. Among these are Red Nice, Bucella, 
Mischianza, Calcavella, Sercial and Gooseberry. 
All, so far as London is concerned, are obsolete, with 
the exception of the last, and that, although one 
may still drink it, at fabulous prices, now goes under 
an alias. In another case is some Venetian glass 
which may cause one to wonder what its connexion 
with the Mother of Cities can be, until one reads 
that similar articles were used by London citizens 
in the sixteenth and seventeenth century: a pretty 
illustration of how wide a net the director, Sir Guy 

£165]; 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Laking, casts. I remember hereabouts too a pedlar's 
pack, which turns out to be very like a portable cup- 
board and must have been a burden not much less 
cumbersome than Christian's. Often too must it 
have held copies of Bunyan's allegory. 

From St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, that very charm- 
ing little ancient church, come certain effigies of his- 
torical interest which must be greatly surprised to 
find themselves in this West End mansion. One is 
that from the sumptuous tomb of Sir William Pick- 
ering (1516-1575), the courtier and diplomatist 
under Henry VIII, Edward VI and Mary, who, after 
some questionable intrigues abroad, was spoken of as 
a possible and even probable consort of Good Queen 
Bess herself. Another effigy is of a gallant citizen 
and haberdasher who, becoming a captain, trained 
men to resist the Armada in 1588; and a third is 
from the tomb of Sir John Spencer, Lord Mayor of 
London, who gave great feasts at Crosby Hall, that 
fine Elizabethan palace removed in 1909-10 from 
Bishopsgate Street to Cheyne Row, Chelsea. Spencer 
was a man of great commercial shrewdness and 
strength of will, who had he lived to-day would be a 
financial magnate and own thirty cars and very likely 
a newspaper. As it was, he left a fortune of nearly a 
million. Early in his career he narrowly escaped 
capture in the Thames by a Dunkirk pifate whose 
plan was to hold him for ransom for £50,000. Later 

,[166] 




THE WESTMINSTER GUILDHALL 



THE LONDON MUSEUM 

he was thro.wn into prison, on the ground of ill- 
treating his daughter, at the instance of Lord Comp- 
ton (afterwards Earl of Northampton), who wished 
to marry that lady but .could not get her father's 
consent. This ruse failing, the ardent peer con- 
trived to smuggle the object of his desire from her 
father's house in a bread basket, and marry her; 
but the marriage portion was withheld. The result 
was that when Sir John at length died and his daugh- 
ter became his heiress, Lord Compton, in excess of 
joy under realisation, went out of his mind. 

In Cromwellian relics the Museum is rich. Here 
are his gun; his death mask, revealing a vast face 
with the famous wart over the right eye; a bronze 
bust of him with the wart carefully eliminated; a 
marble bust with the wart in situ; his Bible and his 
watch. Close by is a shirt worn by Richard Brandon, 
who beheaded Charles I. 

That this Brandon, who had succeeded his father 
as public executioner, really performed the office is 
now accepted, but for a while one Hewlett was 
thought guilty, and in 1660, when the pendulum 
had swung back, he was even condemned to death for 
the offence. Brandon executed not only the King, 
but earlier Laud and Strafford. He received for 
beheading Charles thirty pounds, all paid in half- 
crowns within half an hour of the deed. He 
also was given an orange stick full of cloves 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

and a handkerchief from His Majesty's pocket. 

In justice to Brandon, it must be said that he 
came to the task very unwillingly : in fact, he had to 
be fetched by force; and he was so much the victim 
of remorse that he died in the same year, not, how- 
ever, until he had dispatched the Earl of Holland 
(the first owner of Holland House), the Duke of 
Hamilton, and Lord Capel, with the same axe. 

After passing cases of Chelsea porcelain. Bow por- 
celain and Battersea enamel (why does not London 
any more make charming things like this'?), we 
reach the pictures, not all of which are strictly 
Londonian but are mostly of great interest. In the 
middle of the room is a Georgian dolls' house so mi- 
nutely solicitous as to the requirements of its occu- 
pants as to supply a punch bowl and glasses. 

For most visitors the most popular room is the 
large gallery in which the late E. A. Abbey's collec- 
tion of costumes and those brought together by Sir 
Seymour Lucas are to be seen and copied and cov- 
eted. They range from Stuart days to Victorian, 
and a little Dolly Varden bonnet is by no means the 
least desirable thing among them. The Georgian 
dinner party in the glass apartment at the end would 
be the better if heads had been supplied to the revel- 
lers. Could not a few pounds be set aside for a wax 
modeller*? In another case is a collection of Vic- 
torian jewellery presented by that generous friend 

[168] 



THE LONDON MUSEUM 

of the Museum, Mr. J. G. Joicey (but for whose 
munificence it would be almost as poor as the Guild- 
hall Gallery without Mr. Gassiot), which again 
causes one to marvel at the wave of execrable taste 
that overwhelmed this country in the middle of the 
last century. Have the reasons for it ever been 
rightly explained? These jewels are an object les- 
son indeed. Who was to blame? Who suddenly 
decided that the slender elegance of Chippendale and 
Heppel white was bad form, and that jewels were 
of no account unless surrounded by gold ramparts 
burnished like Tottenham Court Road bedsteads'? 
Was it all the fault of Albert the Good? 

From ordinary costume we pass to royal costume, 
— since Buckingham Palace is in London, — on the 
way noticing one or two famous histrionic robes, 
such as Wolsey's as worn by Phelps, and a case of 
dolls dressed by Queen Victoria as a child. Some of 
the royal garments are so recent as almost to give 
one a shock, one in particular uncannily suggesting 
its late wearer. In the cases are various royal relics, 
including the Duke of Kent's medicine chest, and 
a sumptuous umbrella, or more probably sunshade, 
in blue and gold, belonging to George IV. Some 
painter of fantastic imagination — say Mr. Pryde — 
should give us the First Gentleman of Europe con- 
serving his complexion beneath this gorgeous canopy. 
The basement is of sterner stuff. Here are prison 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

cells with models of felons and their original pathetic 
or scornful writings on the wall; here is a dreadful 
door from Newgate; here are broadsides upon mur- 
derers, last confessions and Catnach ballads. A han- 
som cab makes one feel old ; a high bicycle makes one 
feel prehistoric. A row of Highlanders from tobac- 
conists' shops recall a past that might still be a 
present, for why should they be obsolete*? A few, 
however, are still to be found in their true place, 
and there is one in a tobacconist's in Kingsway that 
I often glance at. Hereabouts too are a number of 
signs from ancient places of business ; and that sign- 
boards need never have gone out is now being very 
agreeably demonstrated by a firm of lamp-makers 
in Hanover Street, whose good taste ought to re-set 
the fashion. The Duke of Wellington's post-chaise 
is also on this alluring basement floor, and here is 
a Roman gallery from the bottom of the Thames, 
still in fair preservation. An old inn parlour has 
furthermore been reconstructed, to revivify our an- 
cestors' tavern joys; but here again the art of Tus- 
saud might well have been invited, for the roysterer 
who is to drink, and the serving-girl who waits upon 
him, equally lack a head. 

Finally, I must mention the bow window with 

small panes, till lately the front of a toy shop in 

Holborn, which has been brought bodily here. This 

is one of the most genuine London exhibits and by 

[170] 



THE LONDON MUSEUM 

no means tJie least interesting. Incidentally it shows 
that there has been no real advance whatever in toy- 
making; rather the reverse. In the old days the de- 
visers of toys were rightly intent upon detail; their 
excellent idea, based on sound principles of juvenile 
psychology, was that a child wanted real things but 
wanted them in miniature. 

The most popular part of the basement is the nar- 
row passage on each side of which are models of old 
London, made with the skill that seems to belong 
naturally to all exponents of this pleasant hobby. 
The subjects include Bankside with its Shakespear- 
ean theatres and a frost fair on the ice of the Thames. 
Why does the Thames freeze no more? Why is 
everything amusing a thing of the past*? Another 
and very fascinating model is that of Old London 
Bridge. Others are the Fire of London with old 
St. Paul's in flames and a realistic effect of smoke; 
Cheapside in 1580, showing a cross at the corner of 
Wood Street, where later Poor Susan was to recon- 
struct her native countryside; the Fleet River, that 
mysterious stream of which, in spite alike of models, 
pictures and maps, it is so difficult to get a definite 
idea; the Royal Exchange in 1600; Charing Cross 
in 1620, with a pillory in view; and old St. Paul's, 
that fine cruciform church whose beauty was, I al- 
ways feel, so much greater than its substitute's. 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Another model, but this time built up and not 
of cardboard, represents a fair in St. James's Park 
on August 3, 1814, to celebrate the glorious peace. 
Something of this kind must happen again. . . . 

Coming away from Stafford House one has the 
feeling that London could do with more museums, 
each specializing in its own branch. Stafford House 
touches a myriad subjects so lightly; it exhausts 
none. Moreover, one finds eleswhere so many things 
that should be here, and one finds here so many 
things that might with advantage to the student 
be elsewhere. There are, to give an example, three 
or four pictures at the Guildhall that ought to be 
at Stafford House — a Daniel Turner, clearly one of 
a series of which Stafford House has several, and a 
painting of the burning of Drury Lane Theatre in 
1809. And then, what does a bust of James Thom- 
son, the poet, in a London museum*? He was no 
conspicuous Londoner, and his best-known poem is 
of the country. A bust of that later James Thomson 
who wrote "The City of Dreadful Night" would be 
fitting enough. And there is that later poet still, 
and, in spite of calamity, far happier and greater — 
Francis Thompson, whom fate transformed to a 
Londoner and who could write thus wonderfully and 
ecstatically of his second home, which had not been 
too kind to him : 

[172] 



THE LONDON MUSEUM 

"The angels keep their ancient places ; — 
Turn but a stone and start a wing ! 
*Tis ye, 'tis your estranged faces, 

That miss the many-splendoured thing. 

But (when so sad thou canst not sadder) 

Cry; — and upon thy so sore loss 
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob's ladder 

Pitched between Heaven and Charing Cross. 

Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter, 
Cry, — clinging Heaven by the hems ; 

And lo, Christ walking on the water 
Not of Genesareth, but Thames." 

A bust of the poet who wrote those lines would be 
more fitting here than that of the author of The 

Seasons, 



[173] 



CHAPTER XIII 



THE CIRCUS 



Modern taste in amusement — Feats of strength and skill — 
A good time coming — The great London circuses — 
"The Flemish Hercules" — An infant phenomenon — An- 
drew Ducrow's career — The Henglers — A florid tomb — 
Kensal Green — The illustrious dead — An immortal 
counsel — Philip Astley — "The Spanish Horse" — A war 
worker — The Prince's recognition — A great trainer — A 
water pageant. 

LONDON has to-day no circus, and the recent 
fashion for revue has cut off from the variety 
theatres nearly every acrobat, juggler and "strong 
man." A few trick-cyclists remain, but for the most 
part singers, chorus-girls and low com.edians hold the 
stage and seem likely to hold it. A reaction may set 
in, but it is hardly in sight; and the standard of 
criticism on the part of the public, never high, — ^hiss- 
ing, for example, has been voted bad form for years, 
— has sunk during the War to zero or below it, so 
that anything has of late been tolerated and even 
applauded. 

[174] 



THE CIRCUS 

This is a pity, for the spectacle of highly-trained 
muscle and eye was always interesting and it made 
for public health; which is more than can be said 
of certain present-day popular forms of entertain- 
ment. With the circus it would naturally come 
back, and I for one deplore the absence of the magic 
ring, and indeed marvel at it in a city so vast as 
ours, with so many tastes to please and so many 
children to amuse. For whatever may be the thrill 
which the theatre can impart to a child, it is as 
nothing campared with the excitement of being in a 
circus. 

Since what man has done man will do, and what 
man has enjoyed man will enjoy, one may look con- 
fidently to the day when a permanent circus will 
again be established in London, as well patronised 
as any of the old ones, from the days of Astley and 
Ducrow to Hengler, or as Sanger's travelling shows 
still are in the more fortunate provinces. If Paris 
can maintain two circuses why should not London 
support one? 

The line of descent among the great London 
circus-proprietors is very direct. Philip Astley 
(1742-1814) was the first, and he was succeeded by 
one of his best performers, Andrew Ducrow (1793- 
1842), while Frederick Charles Hengler (1820- 
1887), who built the last London circus to hold out, 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

was the son of a tight-rope dancer to whom Ducrow 
taught his glorious business. 

To the great Astley we will turn later, by way of 
crescendo, even though he is earliest in point of 
time. Ducrow, born in Southwark, was the son 
of a Belgian "strong man," who could lift with his 
teeth a table on which four or five of his children 
were seated; while lying on his back it was nothing 
to him to support on his hands and feet a platform 
bearing eighteen Grenadiers. Is it any wonder that 
Astley, engaging the father for his circus, billed 
him as "The Flemish Hercules" *? At three years 
of age young Ducrow began to be a Hercules too, 
and then, in the fine thorough versatile way of circus 
performers, proceeded to master all the other 
branches of the profession — acrobatics, vaulting, rid- 
ing, tight-rope walking, contortionism, and possibly 
even humour, although the clown of the family was 
his brother John — so that when only seven he was fit 
to perform before the King, George III. 

At the age of fifteen the boy Ducrow was taking 
£10 a week from Astley as chief horseman and 
tight-rope dancer, and five years later he became 
his own manager, at the Royal Circus, Blackfriars 
Road, where the Surrey Theatre now stands. After 
a successful tour in Belgium and France, he settled 
down in London as the joint-proprietor of Astley's 
ampitheatre, and in his maturer years he was so 

[176] 




MISS RIDGE 

AFTER THE PICTURE BY SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS IN THE TENNANT GALLERY 



THE CIRCUS 

popular with William IV that he fitted up a private 
circus ring for him in the Dome at Brighton. In 
1841 his Ampitheatre was destroyed by that great 
enemy of circuses, fire, and he never rallied from the 
blow, dying in 1842, and being followed to Kensal 
Green by half London. 

Among Ducrow's assistants was a tight-rope 
dancer named Henry Hengler, who had three sons 
to whom he passed on the mysteries of the circus 
craft. All of these developed circuses in various 
parts of England, Scotland and Ireland, and in 
1871 Frederick Charles, the most energetic of them, 
built a circus in Argyle Street, which remained open 
until quite recent times. The Palladium Music Hall 
now stands on the site. 

Reverting for a moment to Ducrow, before we 
turn to his great predecessor, discoverer and em- 
ployer, Philip Astley, I might say that for a long 
time his mausoleum was one of the sights of Kensal 
Green cemetery. Designed under his own supervi- 
sion, the structure is pseudo-Egyptian in form with 
guardian sphinxes. An owl broods over all, and a 
riot of broken columns and fallen capitols symbolizes 
mortality. The epitaph says that Ducrow's death 
"deprived the arts and sciences of an eminent pro- 
fessor and liberal patron." And so it did. 

Ducrow being one of the earliest of the notable 
men to be laid here, his tomb remained for long a 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

spectacle; but it is now overshadowed. Many are 
the imposing habitations of the dead; but there is 
nothing here, amid all this exuberance of stone, that 
so impresses the eye and the imagination as those 
plain, massive, majestic sarcophagi of the Roths- 
childs in the Jewish cemetery at Willesden. 

After the order and legibility of Pere-la-Chaise, 
Kensal Green is rather a shock. It is a forlorn 
necropolis indeed, and nothing is done to assist the 
pious pilgrim. The gate-keeper, it is true, lends 
a numbered chart, but never have I been at the 
capricious mercy of so incompetent a document. 
Better perhaps to wander idly among the tombs* 
and trust to chance for the trend of one's Harveyan 
meditations. My own peregrinations in this way 
brought me to the graves of John Smeaton, the 
engineer; C. R. Leslie, the painter; William Mul- 
ready, lying beneath a recumbent effigy of himself, 
more like a bishop than an artist; John Cam Hob- 
house, Byron's friend; John St. John Long, the 
notorious patent-medicine-man, who invented a rem- 
edy to cure consumption, but refusing to take it him- 
self when threatened by that complaint, died at the 
early age of thirty-six; George Cruikshank, the 
satirical draughtsman ; George Birkbeck, the founder 
of mechanics' institutes ; Richard Valpy, the famous 
schoolmaster, and members of his family, all of 
whom were bent upon getting the classics into the 

[178] 



THE CIRCUS 

British schoolboy; the Princess Sophia, fifth daugh- 
ter and fourteenth child of George III (1777-1848) ; 
her brother, the Duke of Sussex (1773-1843), who 
preferred to be buried here rather than at Windsor 
with the rest of the Royal Family; Jean Franqois 
Gravelet Blondin, the tight-rope walker; and Allan 
Gibson Steel, who bowled better than any amateur 
of his day.— Such was my harvest. 

What, however, I should also have seen had there 
been a lucid map, was the grave of Thomas Hood, 
the grave of Thackeray, and the grave of Anthony 
Trollope. But I could not find them. 

Ducrow, as we have seen, was a man of parts, and 
Hengler had enterprise; but the great Astley was 
more than that — ^he was a character and the author 
of one of the immortal English sayings. After a 
recent visit to the House of Commons, I have come 
again to the conclusion that few of the sententise 
of the world have more virtue than this, his growled 
command to his stage manager, "Cut the cackle and 
come to the 'osses." There is hardly a moment of 
the day when this rule of life could not profitably 
be remembered. Every child should work it on a 
sampler and read it on his mug; copy-books should 
prefer it to the usual run of more arguable maxims ; 
patriotic plutocrats should pay for its insertion at 
the top of The Times' personal column; and wher- 
ever there is an empty space on hoarding or wall, in 

[179] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

omnibuses or tubes, it should be emblazoned in let- 
ters of gold. In all French railway carriages during 
the War the passengers were warned to be silent 
and suspicious, for the ears of the enemy were every- 
where; so that ''Taisez'vous! mefiez-vousP' became 
a catch-phrase in that country where catch-phrases 
have ever prospered. Astley's deathless sentence 
should be equally popular here, for never was the 
recognition of its importance more necessary. "Cut 
the cackle and come to the 'osses." 

To Newcastle-under-Lyme belongs the honour of 
Philip Astley's birth, in 1742, his father being a 
cabinet-maker there. At the age, however, of seven- 
teen (which would horrify some of our head-masters, 
however much it pleased others) the boy turned his 
back on chisel and plane and enlisted in General 
Elliott's Light Horse, became remarkable as a rough- 
rider and breaker-in, and so distinguished himself at 
the battles of Ensdorf and Friedberg that his general 
presented him with a favourite charger. With this 
noble companion, known as "The Spanish Horse," 
Astley toured England, to exhibit the tricks that he 
had taught him, which comprised unsaddling him- 
self, washing his feet, removing a boiling kettle from 
a flaming fire, and impersonating a waiter at a 
tavern. 

Never had a man a better friend. "The Spanish 
Horse" (to anticipate a little) remained in Astley's 

[180] 



THE CIRCUS 

service for forty-two years, and, on passing to Ast- 
ley's successor at the Royal Ampitheatre, was care- 
fully tended, two quarten loaves a day being pro- 
vided for a toothless mouth that could no longer 
manage corn; and when death at last came, his 
hide (in order to perpetuate his memory) was tanned 
and made into a thunder drum for the prompt side 
of the theatre. I wonder if it exists still. Why is 
there no museum of such old theatrical relics'? 

From touring, Astley turned to circus and theatre 
management in London. His first circus was at the 
Lambeth end of Westminster Bridge, which grew 
from humble unroofed beginnings into the Royal 
Grove Ampitheatre. With various ups and downs 
of fortune, he continued in this business to the end, 
both in London and Paris (where he established the 
cirque known afterwards as Franconi's), though on 
the breaking out of the French Revolution he again 
joined the Army, under the Duke of York, and not 
only fought but was invaluable as a horse-transport 
officer. He behaved also in a way that marks him 
out especially as a forerunner of present-day meth- 
ods, for he was thoughtful as to supplies of clothing 
and other comforts to the troops. In the words of 
one who knew him: "When he left this country he 
took with him a very large strong chest, with bits of 
broad-cloth, thread, needles, leather, bristles, wax, 
in fact everything useful in camp in that way; 

[i8i] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

besides five hundred flannel jackets, and at the 
corner of each of them was sewed in a shilling, that 
in case they [the soldiers] should be in want of 
money for refreshment they would know where they 
might find a 'friend in need.' Previous to its being 
got together, like a good tactician he called his com- 
pany to the theatre and asked them what they would 
yield as contents for the chest*? The ladies instantly 
offered their services in making the jackets, which 
was received very good-naturedly." 

After this campaign he came back to a new Royal 
Ampitheatre, on the site of the Lyceum Theatre, in 
time to dress in the Windsor uniform and sit his 
horse at the door of his establishment when the King 
and Duke of York rode by in triumphant proces- 
sion. The Duke and Mr. Astley saluting each other, 
"the King was pleased to say to his son, 'Who is 
that, Frederick *?' to which His Royal Highness im- 
mediately replied, 'Mr. Astley, Sir, one of our good 
friends, a veteran, one that fought in the German 
War.' Upon this the King turned towards Mr. Ast- 
ley and made a most courteous assent to him." The 
incident, the chronicler continues, was "a theme of 
exultation to Mr. Astley, and it was constant in his 
remembrance for a long while." 

Astley's houses of entertainment were famous not 
only for horses but for the gigantic spectacles which 
he devised and elaborated. Among his inventions 

• [182] 



THE CIRCUS 

I rather fancy that "real water" has to be included. 
In his circuses he reigned supreme, a vain and 
choleric martinet, who was, however, beloved by his 
employees. In all his adversity- — and through fire 
alone he had more than his share — he remained 
steadfastly honest. His name throughout England 
became synonymous with whatever was most daring 
and exciting in horesmanship. Not only the best 
showman, but the best horse-tamer of his time, he 
never gave more than five pounds for a horse, nor 
did he care what colour, shape or make it was: 
temper was his only consideration. But when he 
had done with the horse fifty pounds probably could 
not buy it. 

A contemporary account of the great man by one 
of his company, from which I have already quoted, 
calls him "very facetious and liberal." It adds that 
"he was obstinate at times and would not give up 
his opinion to any one, but very forgiving the mo- 
ment after." He was inclined (like so many auto- 
crats) to be a little deaf now and then. Riding was 
naturally — since he was a circus genius — ^not his only 
accomplishment. "One day, for a considerable 
wager, he floated on his back in the Thames, from 
Westminster Bridge to Blackfriars, with a flag erect 
in each hand." Brave times I Theatrical managers 
never do these sporting things nowadays. 

Philip Astley died in Paris in 1814, and was 

[183] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

buried in Pere-la-Chaise. His son, "Young Astley," 
who had long assisted and then succeeded him, lived 
only for seven years after, and Pere-la-Chaise guards 
his dust too. 

The great Astley built altogether nineteen amphi- 
theatres; and what the old fellow's ghost can think 
when he visits London now and finds not a single 
circus for all her millions, who shall say? 'Twixt 
revue and revue no room for a charger to put even 
his nose in ! Could his reflection be other than that 
in cutting the 'osses to come to the cackle we have 
not changed for the better? 



[184] 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE STATUES OF LONDON 
V. MISCELLANEOUS 

William Pitt — The University of London — Sages in stone 
— A ducal agriculturist — Charles James Fox — Captain 
Coram and the Foundlings — King George and Saint 
George — Pinnacled figures — Reminders of Athens — The 
Father of Reform — Mrs. Siddons — Paddington Church 
and its dead — St. Mary-le-Bone and its dead — Hogarth 
relics — A noble sportsman— rFrom racing to politics — 
Sir Thomas Clayton — Chelsea memorials — Thomas Guy, 
miser and philanthropist. 

IN previous chapters I have shown how far the 
statues of London can be visited on any definite 
plan. There are many others, but they are scattered. 
I now enumerate all or most of these, but in no 
particular order. 

In Piccadilly Circus is Alfred Gilbert's memorial 
fountain to Lord Shaftesbury, the philanthropist, 
with its charming Cupid on the top. 

In Golden Square is a statue of George II dressed 
as a Roman. 

In Hanover Square is a statue of William Pitt by 

[185] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Chantrey. Although Pitt died in 1806, it was not 
until 1831 that this statue was erected. A party 
opposed to the policy and achievements of that great 
man even then tried to pull it down. This has been 
called the best statue in London. It is certainly fine, 
but I personally should bracket with it for excellence 
the Gordon in Trafalgar Square, the Henry Irving 
in Charing Cross Road, and the Beaconsfield in Par- 
liament Square. 

Such incidental busts as those, for example, upon 
the fagades of the National Portrait Gallery and 
the Royal Institute of Painters in Water Colours I 
have disregarded; but the full-length statues at the 
London University come perhaps within our scheme. 
They also cover a wide field of human learning and 
achievement. On the facade of this building, in 
Burlington Gardens, are, on the top, beginning at 
the left, Galileo, La Place and Goethe. Then, in the 
middle, Galen, Cicero, Aristotle, Plato, Archimedes 
and Justinian. Then, on the right, David Hume, 
John Hunter and Sir Humphry Davy ; but all are so 
high that they have no significance as portraits. 

In the middle, on a lower level, are Sir Isaac 
Newton, Jeremy Bentham (whom we are to meet 
later under very peculiar circumstances), Milton and 
Harvey. In lower niches to the left and right of the 
fagade are Cuvier, Liebnitz, Linnaeus, Locke, Bacon 
and Adam Smith. 

[186] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

In Russell Square is a statue of one of the great 
family which owns the property hereabouts — Fran- 
cis, the fifth Duke of Bedford (1765-1802). This 
Duke, who never married, succeeded in 1771, and 
took to politics as a Whig and Foxite. He was the 
"Noble Lord" to whom Burke wrote the open letter 
in defence of his pension, which the Duke had op- 
posed, and in which the scorn levelled at the House 
of Russell for its participation in royal grants was 
blistering. "Everything of him and about him," 
said Burke, "is from the throne." It was this Duke 
who demolished Bedford House in Bloomsbury, 
which Inigo Jones had built, in order that Russell 
Square and Bedford Square might come into being. 
His tastes were in agriculture, and he spent huge 
sums at Woburn in the improvement of stock and 
the encouragement of husbandry. Hence the sym- 
bolism of this statue, which sets one of his hands on 
a plough and in the other places ears of corn. The 
attendant children represent the four seasons, and 
there are bas-reliefs in honour of rural occupations. 

In Bloomsbury Square, almost within hailing dis- 
tance, is the Duke's political leader, Charles James 
Fox, erected in 1816. The great Whig is seated, and 
his right hand holds Magna Charta. He is dressed 
like a Roman senator. 

Opposite the Foundling Hospital, at the end of 
Lamb's Conduit, is a statue of Captain Thomas 

[187] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Coram (1668-1751), the sturdy philanthropist who, 
after some years spent in building ships and in 
sailing ships and in studying emigration and the 
American plantations, walking one day in the city 
of London was struck by the number of infants ex- 
posed in the streets in a dying condition. There- 
upon he decided that something must be done for 
them, and, after seventeen years' agitation, he in- 
terested sufficient persons to obtain a charter for a 
Foundling Hospital. The first refuge for these un- 
desired castaways was in Hatton Garden; then, in 
1 742, the present building was begun. Later in life 
the Captain, coming upon difficulties, was the re- 
cipient of charity, which he accepted without any 
loss of his fine independence, saying that since he 
had never wasted his money in self-indulgence he 
was not ashamed to be poor. 

In South Square, Gray's Inn, is a statue of 
Bacon. 

On the summit of the tower of St. George's 
Church, in Hart Street, is a statue of George I. 
By what freak of folly it was possible to set a 
Hanoverian where a saint should be, no one can 
understand; but leave having been obtained, a 
brewer M.P. named William Hucks hastened to 
provide the money, and the King went up. 

The architect of St. George's Church, a pupil and 
assistant of Wren, named Nicholas Hawksmoor 

[188] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

(166 1-1 736), succeeded Gibbs as the superintendent 
of the fifty new churches which were commissioned 
at the close of Anne's reign, and he designed five or 
six himself. St. Mary Woolnoth is considered his 
best, while St. George's is certainly his most striking. 
The steeple was intended to reproduce Pliny's de- 
scription of the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus, where 
King Mausolus was buried. 

Another church in this neighbourhood I might 
mention here as having also an ancient origin — 
St. Pancras in the Euston Road, the exterior of 
which is an adaptation of the Ionic Temple of the 
Erectheion or the Acropolis at Athens, while the 
tower is modelled from the Temple of the Winds, 
also in Athens. The building with the caryatides, 
at the side, is borrowed from the Pandroseion at 
Athens. Thus do the faiths ancient and modern 
touch hands. 

In Euston Square is a statue of Robert Stephenson 
(1803-1859), the engineer. In the station itself, of 
whose impressive portico Mr. Livens has made a 
picture, is the greater Stephenson, George, the father 
of the steam horse, and therefore destroyer of the 
Tantivy Trot, for which I find it hard to forgive him. 
At the south end of High Street, Camden Town, on 
the site of the turnpike gate, is a statue of Richard 
Cobden (1804-1865), the Free Trader. The princi- 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

pal subscriber to the fund for this memorial was 
Napoleon III. 

In Burton Crescent, Somers Town, is a statue of 
Major John Cartwright (1740-1824), who died in 
the contiguous house. Cartwright, who, after being 
in the Navy, became a Major in the Militia, was 
an energetic, far-sighted man in advance of his 
time. He urged upon the country better home de- 
fence and a stronger Navy, and was called the Father 
of Reform from his activities to improve the political 
representation of the people. He was privately a 
friend of man too: on four occasions saving lives 
from drowning, at the risk of his own. 

In Park Crescent, Portland Place, is a statue of 
the Duke of Kent, the father of Queen Victoria. 

In the centre of Paddington Green is a seated 
statue not of Pretty Polly Perkins but of Mrs. Sid- 
dons (1755-1831), whose grave is in the vast ceme- 
tery behind the church. Most of the graves have 
been removed, as is the case also in the great God's 
Acre off the Bayswater Road; but that of the fa- 
mous actress remains. This church, one of the many 
St. Marys that London owns, is a quaint little build- 
ing, enisled amid traffic. Dating only from 1791, 
it has many tablets to eminent persons, not a few 
of them artists. Old Nollekens, the sculptor and 
miser, lies here; William Collins, the painter of 
the pretty scenes of rural life which we saw at the 
[190] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

Guildhall; B. R. Haydon, the luckless, whose ambi- 
tion so far transcended his powers; Schiavonetti, 
the engraver; and Michael Bryan, who was the 
painters^ and engravers' biographer. Curran was 
buried here in 1817, but his remains were carried 
to Dublin in 1840. Hogarth was married in the 
church which preceded the present one. 

We find another Hogarthian relic at the finer 
white stone church of St. Mary Le Bone in the 
Marylebone Road,- close to Dickens's Devonshire 
Terrace house; for on one of the gallery pews are 
the remains of an inscription which is to be read also 
in the fifth scene of "The Rake's Progress," where 
the Rake marries the wealthy old maid. In those 
days, early in the eighteenth century, this church 
was sufficiently far from London to be a kind of 
convenient Gretna Green. The present building is 
a new one, dating from 1741, and in its burial-ground 
were many artists also laid: Allan Ramsay, the 
portrait painter; Francis Wheatley, who designed 
the famous "London Cries," which now, in their en- 
graved form, fetch such vast sums at Christie's; 
George Stubbs, who studied and painted horses as 
none since have done; and here Sheridan was mar- 
ried to the lovely Maria Linley; here Lord Byron 
was baptised. 

I might mention that St. Mary Le Bone is not, as 
some have thought, a corruption of La Bonne, but 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

it has reference to the Bourne, the stream also called 
the Tybourn, which once flowed here. 

In Cavendish Square is a statue of Lord George 
Bentinck (1802-1848), son of the fourth Duke of 
Portland, on whose estate the square is situated. 
Lord William George Frederick Cavendish Bentinck, 
to give him his full name, was also nephew, by mar- 
riage, of Canning. He was proficient at all sports, 
but the passion of his life was racing. The Derby 
never fell to him, but his mare Crucifix in 1840 won 
the Oaks, the Thousand Guineas and the Two Thou- 
sand Guineas. It nearly broke his heart when a 
colt out of Crucifix, under other colours, won the 
Blue Ribbon. Lord George not only raced, but 
worked zealously to reform the race-course, and un- 
doubtedly did much towards that improbable end. 
He once fought a duel with Squire Osbaldeston, 
whom we meet in the chapter on Lord's, over a bet. 
Lord George, firing first and missing, remarked, "It's 
now 2 to 1 in your favour." "The bet's off," said 
the Squire, and discharged his pistol into the air. 
In 1845 Lord George, suddenly becoming serious, 
took to politics against Free Trade. To the end of 
his short life he remained a vigorous Protectionist. 
Disraeli wrote his biography. 

At the head of Regent Street is a statue of Quintin 
Hogg ( 1845-1903), who founded the adjacent Poly- 
technic. 
[192] 




CHRIST BLESSING CHILDREN 

AFTER THE RELIEF BY J. FLAXMAN AT UNIVERSITY COLLEGE 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

At Knightsbridge is an equestrian statue of Hugh 
Henry, Lord Strathnairn (1801-1885), one of the 
heroes of the Indian Mutiny. 

Outside the Brompton Oratory is a statue of 
Cardinal Newman (1801-1890). 

Opposite the Westminster City Schools in Palace 
Street is the statue of Sir Sydney Hedley Waterlow 
(1822-1906), who was chairman of the Board of 
Governors. Another statue of Sir Sydney is in 
Waterlow Park, Highgate, which he presented to 
London. 

At St. Thomas's Hospital are statues of Edward 
VI and of Sir Robert Clayton (1629-1707), a city 
merchant and Lord Mayor, who helped to rebuild 
the Hospital and left it a handsome legacy. He 
was also a patron of Christ's Hospital. 

At the London Hospital is a statue of Queen 
Alexandra. 

Outside the Tate Gallery at Millbank is a statue 
of the painter Sir John Everett Millais, P.R.A. 
In the garden of the Brixton Library is a bronze 
bust of Sir Henry Tate (1819-1899), who presented 
the Tate Gallery to the nation. 

On the Chelsea Embankment there are three 
memorials. One is a statue of Thomas Carlyle 
(1795-1881) near his house in Cheyne Row; while 
on the house itself, No. 24, is a medallion of him. 
One commemorates the officers and men of the 6th 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Dragoon Guards who fell in South Africa; and the 
third is a drinking fountain in honour of Dante Ga- 
briel Rossetti (1828-1882), the artist and poet, who 
lived in the opposite house for many years. In the 
Chelsea Physic Gardens is a statue of Sir Hans 
Sloane (1660-1753). 

At Guy's Hospital, in the courtyard in Lant 
Street, is a statue of Thomas Guy (1644-1724), the 
founder. It is a common error to think of Guy as 
a physician; on the contrary, he was a bookseller. 
He made his fortune chiefly by the sale of the 
Bible, and increased it with more shrewdness than 
that book might have sanctioned. Notoriously 
niggardly, he is said to have cancelled his design 
of marrying his servant girl because, after he had 
given her directions as to the repair of the pavement 
before his shop, "she thoughtlessly desired the 
paviors to extend their operations beyond the stone 
he had marked." Terrified of what miight happen 
with such a spendthrift as a helpmeet, he prudently 
remained single, or wedded only to his wealth. 

Fortunately, however, Guy was philanthropically 
bent. For many years he maintained some alms- 
houses at Tamworth, where his childhood was spent, 
and in 1701 he gave the place a Town Hall; while 
he was also kind in a private capacity to many de- 
serving persons. In 1704 he began to be interested 
in St. Thomas's Hospital, which in those days was 

[194] 



THE STATUES OF LONDON 

not opposite the Houses of Parliament but at South- 
wark, and it was the realisation of how many more 
sick people existed in the neighbourhood than could 
be relieved by this institution that led him to found 
a separate but adjacent one. The sale of his South 
Sea stock at an enormous profit provided the funds, 
and in 1721 he began his operations and Guy's Hos- 
pital gradually arose. His fortune, at his death, 
turned out to be immense, sufficient not only to en- 
dow this Hospital with £200,000, but also to assist 
other charities, to leave ninety cousins about a thou- 
sand pounds apiece, and to make numerous persons 
not related to him happy, at any rate momentarily. 

Finally, let me note there is a statue of Col. Sam- 
uel Bourne Bevington (1832-1907), first Mayor of 
Bermondsey, almost opposite St. Olave's School, one 
of the most charming of London's modern red brick 
buildings, at the south end of the Tower Bridge. 

No doubt I have omitted some memorials, and 
of course others are always in course of erection. 
In new editions of this book these will be added. 



[195] 



CHAPTER XV 



SERMONS IN STONES 



The Geological Museum — A house of few visitors — When 
England was a zoo — The romance of geology — Treas- 
ures beneath the foot — Matlock spar — A Jurassic thrill 
— Serpentine workers — The lovely Cuillin Hills — ^Nug- 
gets and jewels — The solar system. 

HOW many times I have walked along Jermyn 
Street and passed the portals of the Geologi- 
cal Museum, I cannot say. Thousands, for certain. 
And now, for the first time, I have entered them, not 
because I am geologically bent, and not (which is, 
I am told, one of the chief uses of the building) to 
meet a lady in a quiet spot; but solely from a sense 
of duty to readers of this book. In, as I say, I 
went, and in a few minutes I knew more about the 
stratifications of Great Britain than I had ever 
thought possible, and, wandering without method 
and unembarrassed by even a little knowledge of the 
science to which this temple is dedicated, I was 
wholly entertained. 

But what a curious place I I was the only visitor. 

[196] 



SERMONS IN STONES 

There were no assignators; no gay or morose de- 
ceivers; no ladies in thick veils fittingly discovering 
here that in place of a heart the man had (like 
all men) a stone; nothing but dejected attendants, 
two or three workmen, and a brace of portly mem- 
bers of the constabulary force. A confirmed pessi- 
mist had taken away my stick lest I should do dam- 
age with it, but I was conscious that the eyes of the 
law were none the less on me all the time. As inno- 
cent as a war baby, I yet felt a guilty rash creeping 
over me. So it is to be alone in a geological museum 
in spy-time and look unlike a geologist. 

No museum, I hold, can be uninteresting, and the 
Geological Museum is more interesting than many. 
The galleries of the spaciotis light top room are 
fascinating, for they contain fossils from English 
soil by the aid of which one can repopulate our island 
with strange creatures no longer in existence. As 
an example I will mention the remains of a hippo- 
potamus found at Harrington, Cambridge; and not 
a member of a travelling menagerie, either, but a 
genuine denizen of the neighbourhood seons ago, be- 
fore trunks had fallen from horses' noses. Near by, 
from Kentish ground, is a prehistoric Briton's skull 
so flat as to make it certain that Mr. Hall Caine is 
at any rate of a later formation. Geologists, you see, 
have more fun than we others. All that we do is 
to walk about upon the surface of the earth, on 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

roads and paths and meadows. But they dig or chip, 
compelling the clay and the rock to tell them secrets 
and reveal the past. They are the resurrection-men 
of genius ; and busts of them are to be seen in Jermyn 
Street by the score: venerable and gifted men with 
beards and impressive names. They do not look as 
if their lives were one long romance and thrill ; but so 
it was, none the less, any moment being capable of 
yielding a treasure. In the old fable, whenever An- 
tseus, the son of the earth, fell, and thus touched his 
mother, he gained strength; so that in a wrestling 
match his antagonist, perceiving this, held him high 
until he was exhausted. I think of these geologists 
as each an Antaeus. Could one of them ever bring 
himself to aviate? Surely not. 

One of the first thoughts to strike the visitor con- 
cerns the unexpected riches of our own country. One 
has naturally come to suppose that anything in a 
museum that is beautiful or gloriously coloured must 
come from a foreign land. That is the general rule. 
But here are delicate quartzes and prismatic stones, 
transparent or opaque, all in their own way mys- 
teriously beautiful, whether purple fluorites or agates 
or stalbites, and all English: all found in our own 
unromantic country. Ordinarily, it is understood, 
beauty and romance begin at Calais, Boulogne or 
Dieppe, but here it is proved that the visitor to Mat- 
lock, for instance, if he only knew it, always has 

[198] 



SERMONS IN STONES 

his feet just above exquisite treasure. Matlock seems 
to be builded upon subterranean loveliness. This 
museum, indeed, makes England a new place. Five 
or six summers ago I was cruising about Poole Har- 
bour, bathing in Studland Bay, rambling about Corfe 
Castle, and never thinking of what was below. But 
a model of the Isle of Purbeck, here in Jermyn 
Street, shows me that all the time there were beneath 
me not merely peat and moss and macadam, but 
tertiary rocks, or upper cretaceous rocks, or lower 
cretaceous rocks, or even Jurassic rocks. Exciting 
thought! Never before have I associated my own 
life with anything Jurassic. 

Again, not very long ago,. I was looking into the 
windows of serpentine workers all about the Land's 
End and the Lizard, and wondering how they got 
their living, and if one was any better than another, 
and why they all so punctiliously made exactly the 
same things; and here, in Jermyn Street, I found a 
case filled with specimens of all the serpentines there 
are, except the one in Hyde Park. In another case 
are samples of the stones and sand and gravel and 
pebbles to be found under St. Paul's, that threatened 
fane, and not far away is the head of a stone 
prophet from the edifice itself, all weather-worn into 
furrows of thoughtfulness and despair, placed here 
to instruct the student as to the detrimental effects 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

of London's soot and wind and rain upon ecclesi- 
astical sculpture. 

In another place I found a delightful patchwork 
of rainbow tints, which anywhere else would repre- 
sent the more picturesque internal regions of the 
human frame to illustrate a medical treatise, but is 
here the Island of Skye, with all its varied forma- 
tions beyond mistake; and the beautiful Cuillin 
Hills, which I saw not so long ago from one of 
David MacBrayne's steamers, on my way to Harris, 
are here all kinds of hues, according to their stratifica- 
tion. Hitherto I have thought of Skye as a fairy 
island, with a hotel in it where a most admirable 
whisky is to be obtained and a very needful night's 
rest; but henceforward I shall see it also as a mar- 
vellous assemblage of rocks and soils. 

What else do I remember? I remember a model 
of the Welcome nugget from Ballarat, valued with 
intense precision at £8376. 10s. lod., and who would 
have thought there could be ten pennyworth of gold? 
I remember dazzling jewels in cases N and O: here 
frostily ticketed, and destined, I suppose, unless they 
should be looted, never to repose on warm bosoms 
or to grace slender fingers or depend from pretty 
ears; and I remember a series of little glass cases, 
placed apparently capriciously, but really with most 
thoughtful precision, here and there by the railings 
of the top gallery, to illustrate the bewildering and 
[200] 



SERMONS IN STONES 

indeed ungraspable immensity of the solar system. 
By means of pins' heads of varying sizes, to the scale 
of one foot to a million miles (nothing more diffi- 
cult to realize than that!) and a gilt globe the size 
of a football at the far end of the room, the visitor 
is playfully put in possession of a fit of cosmic diz- 
ziness, and reminded more forcibly than usual that 
this planet on which we fret our little lives away 
for seventy years or so is not precisely all. 



[201] 



CHAPTER XVI 

THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY 

The Society of Arts — An Irish painter — Mural allegories — 
"The Death of Wolfe" — Dr. Burney and the Thames — 
Dr. Johnson and Mrs. Montagu — A scene in the Ely- 
sian Fields — International immortals — Hanway's im- 
pulse — Barry at work — Barry at play — A firebrand at 
the Academy — Dr. Monro and his artists — Garrick's 
house — Boswell at his happiest — Dr. Johnson at his best 
— The Adelphi to-day. 

THE most imposing of the original Adelphi 
houses that still remain is that of the Society 
of Arts in John Street; and into this we will wander, 
for here are Barry's mural decorations which once 
were the wonder of London. The Society, I should 
say, was founded in 1754 to encourage the Arts, 
Manufactures and Commerce of Great Britain. At 
first its offices were in Crane Court; and then later, 
after two or three removals, it came, in 1774, to this 
house, built by the brothers Adam. 

James Barry was born in Cork in 1741. He was 
discovered and brought from Ireland by Edmund 
Burke, who introduced him to Reynolds. Both these 
[202] 



THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY 

great men did what they could for him ; but being of 
unruly disposition, always trailing his coat and spoil- 
ing for a fight, Barry was a difficult man to help. 
On returning from Rome, whither his two friends 
sent him to study, he painted with great vigour and 
uttered his opinions with greater; and it was by 
sheer force of determination and belief in himself 
(for after a while men who are persistent enough 
can be taken at their own valuation) that he induced 
the Society of Arts to permit him to cover the walls 
of this, their new building in the Adelphi with a 
series of paintings in the manner of the Vatican. 
The task occupied six years ; all London went to see 
it, and Barry, had he wished it and behaved accord- 
ingly, could have done anything. But he was born 
angular, and remained so. 

The six pictures, which may be seen at this day 
by the courtesy of the Society, were (in the painter's 
own words, for he himself wrote an explanation and 
eulogy of them) designed to illustrate the truth that 
"the attainment of happiness, individual as well as 
public, depends on the development, proper cultiva- 
tion and perfection of the human faculties physical 
and moral." How did Barry perform this task"? He 
began with a representation of Orpheus with his 
lute reclaiming mankind from savagery. Orpheus, 
I may say, is nude. Barry was indeed so partial to 
the nude that, as a satire on Benjamin West's famous 

^ [203] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

picture of the "Death of Wolfe," where every one 
is almost fashionably arrayed, he sent to the Acad- 
emy a "Death of Wolfe" in which nobody had any- 
thing on at all. 

The second picture shows us a Grecian harvest- 
home, in which we discern the processes of agri- 
culture, or husbandry, the escond stage in civilisation. 

The third picture is larger: "The Victors of 
Olympus." Here we see both brawn and brain in 
the highest, for not only do athletes receive their 
prizes, but Pericles, painted by Barry to resemble 
the great Chatham, is a prominent figure, while the 
musician who accompanies the children as they chant 
one of the odes of Pindar, is Pindar himself. The 
figure at the base of the statue of Hercules is Mr. 
Barry. 

Then comes the Thames picture, which, whatever 
the intention, is only comic. In the car, which 
Father Thames is driving or steering along himself, 
or at any rate upon the surface of his own river, are 
Drake, Raleigh, Cabot, and the circumnavigating 
Captain Cook, who was just in time to be included 
among them. The four figures represent the four 
continents. Actually in the water, among nereids 
and tritons appropriate enough to that element, is an 
elderly gentleman in the ordinary clothes of an eld- 
erly gentleman in London in the seventeen seventies : 
none other than the musician Dr. Burney. "The 
[204] 



THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY 

sportive appearance" of some of the nymphs is ex- 
plained by Barry to be due, not to the presence of 
Dr. Burney among them, but to the artist's wish to 
give variety to the picture and "to show that an 
extensive commerce is sometimes found subversive of 
the foundations of virtue." Without this assistance 
no spectator might have thought so. The odd tower 
on the rock is explained by Barry to be ''a naval 
pillar, mausoleum, observatory, and lighthouse, all 
of which are comprehended in the same structure." 
This "by a flight of imagination, no less classically 
happy than singularly original" (I am still quoting 
the artist's words) "the tritons or sea gods them- 
selves appear to have erected as a compliment to 
the first naval power." How necessary it is to be 
provided with a key when inspecting allegories, these 
pictures abundantly prove. 

Allegory, however, has a breathing space in the 
next picture, which represents the Society of Arts in 
Barry's day and some of the recipients of their 
awards. The President is Lord Romney. Near him 
is that model of the virtues, the Prince of Wales, 
afterwards George IV. The founder, Mr. Shipley, 
holds a manuscript; the secretary, Mr. More, holds 
a pen. In the centre is one of Dr. Johnson's blue- 
stockings, Mrs. Montagu, and the Doctor himself 
(who sat for this portrait but has left us nothing 
very illuminating about Barry) "seems to be," in the 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

artist's phrase, "pointing out the example of Mrs. 
Montagu" to the attention of the Duchess of Rut- 
land and the Duchess of Devonshire. The picture 
within the picture is not by Benjamin West or Sir 
Joshua or any of those other fellows, but is Barry's 
own "Fall of Lucifer," a work which, had he ob- 
tained his way, he would have contributed to the 
decoration of St. Paul's Cathedral. 

The next, another large picture, is a contrast with 
the preceding one. In that the Society made its 
earthly awards; in this the immortals are honoured 
in the Elysian Fields. I quote an analysis of this 
scene by Sir Henry Trueman Wood, a late secretary 
to the Society: "The first group on the left consists 
of Roger Bacon, Archimedes, Descartes, and Thales ; 
behind them stands Sir Francis Bacon, Copernicus, 
Galileo, and Sir Isaac Newton; near these is Colum- 
bus with a chart of his voyage; and close to him 
Epaminondas with his shield, Socrates, Cato the 
younger, the elder Brutus, and Sir Thomas More. 
Behind Brutus is William Molyneux, holding his 
book of the Case of Ireland ; near Columbus are Lord 
Shaftesbury, John Locke, Zeno, Aristotle and 
Plato; and in the opening between this group and 
the next are Dr. William Harvey, the discoverer of 
the circulation of the blood, and Robert Boyle. King 
Alfred is leaning on the shoulder of William Penn, 
who is showing his code of laws to Lycurgus ; stand- 
[206] 



THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY 

ing round theiji are Minos, Trajan, Antoninus, Peter 
the Great of Russia, Edward the Black Prince, 
Henry the Fourth of France, and Andrea Doria of 
Genoa. Then come patrons of genius, Lorenzo de 
Medici, Louis the Fourteenth, Alexander the Great, 
Charles the First, Colbert, Leo the Tenth, Francis 
the First, the Earl of Arundel, and the illustrious 
Monk Cassiodorus; behind the archangel are Pascal 
and Bishop Butler, behind whom again is Bossuet, 
his hand resting on the shoulder of Origen. Behind 
Francis the First and Lord Arundel are Hugo Gro- 
tius, Father Paul and Pope Adrian." 

"Near the centre" (here the description from the 
Society's "Transactions" is followed), "towards the 
top of the picture, sits Homer; on his right hand 
Milton, next to him Shakespeare, Spenser, Chaucer, 
and Sappho; behind her sits Alcseus, who is talking 
with Ossian; near him are Menander, Moliere, Con- 
greve, Bruma, Confucius, Mango Capac, etc. Next 
Homer, on the other side, is the Archbishop of 
Cambray, with Virgil leaning on his shoulder; and 
near them Tasso, Ariosto, and Dante. Behind 
Dante, Petrarch, Laura, Giovanni, and Boccaccio. 
In the second range of figures, over Edward the 
Black Prince and Peter the Great, are Swift, Eras- 
mus, and Cervantes ; near them Pope, Dryden, Addi- 
son, and Richardson. Behind Dryden and Pope are 
Sterne, Gray, Goldsmith, Thomson, and Fielding; 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

and near Richardson, Inigo Jones, Sir Christopher 
Wren and Vandyke. Next Vandyke is Rubens, 
with his hand on the shoulder of Le Seur; behind him 
is Le Brun; next are Giulio Romano, Domenichino, 
and Annibale Carrachi, who are in conversation with 
Phidias, behind whom is Giles Hussey. Nicolas 
Poussin and the Sicyonian maid are near them, with 
Callimachus and Pamphilus; near Apelles is Cor- 
reggio; behind Raphael stand Michael Angelo and 
Leonardo da Vinci ; and behind them Ghiberti, Don- 
atello, Massachio, Brunalleschi, Albert Diirer, 
Giotto, Cimabue, and Hogarth. In the other corner 
of the picture the artist has represented Tartarus, 
where, among cataracts of fire and clouds of smoke, 
two large hands are seen; one of them holding a fire- 
fork, the other pulling down a number of figures 
bound together by serpents, representing War, Glut- 
tony, Extravagance, Detraction, Parsimony, and 
Ambition; and floating down the fiery gulph are 
Tyranny, Hypocrisy, and Cruelty, with their proper 
attributes." 

It will be agreed that Barry spared no pains to 
be thorough. 

The pictures being finished in 1784, the public 
was invited, and Barry became a lion. The Society 
generously gave him, in addition to his money, a 
bonus of £200 and the proceeds of the exhibition, 
which we know were not inconsiderable. Jonas 
[208] 



THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY 

Hanway, for .example, who introduced the umbrella 
into England, was so pleased with the pictures that 
he made up his sixpence or shilling entrance fee to a 
guinea. Barry was also allowed to etch the series, 
and his work in that way may be seen on ithe 
Society's staircase. It is rather harsh and suggests 
indifferent Blake, but it brought him in a certain 
additional revenue. The Society's housekeeper told 
Haydon, himself not the most amenable of men and 
painters, that Barry's violence while on his task was 
dreadful, his oaths horrid, and his temper like in- 
sanity. He sometimes arrived with his etching tools 
at five in the morning and remained till eleven at 
night. But when, she said, he was coaxed and in a 
good humour his conversation was sublime. There 
is also, to the credit side of Barry's account, a most 
agreeable description by Allan Cunningham of the 
painter as host in his lodging, and Burke as guest. 
"'Sir,' said Barry, 'you know I live alone; but if 
you will come and help me to eat a steak, I shall 
have it tender and hot from the most classic market 
in London — that of Oxford.' The day and the hour 
came, and Burke, arriving at No. 36 Castle Street, 
found Barry ready to receive him. The fire was 
burning brightly, the steak was put on to broil, and 
Barry, having spread a clean cloth on the table, put 
a pair of tongs in the hands of Burke, saying, 'Be 
useful, my dear friend, and look to the steak till I 

[209] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

fetch the porter.' Burke did as he was desired; the 
painter soon returned with the porter in his hand, 
exclaiming, 'What a misfortune I the wind carried 
away the fine foaming top as I crossed Titchfield- 
street.' They sat down together; the steak was ten- 
der, and done to a moment. The artist was full of 
anecdote, and Burke often declared that he never 
spent a happier evening in his life." 

Barry, while still at work on his Society of Arts 
series, was appointed Professor of Painting at the 
Royal Academy ; but he did not distinguish himself 
in that post, except as a critic of his fellow-painters, 
not excluding Sir Joshua, the President, himself. In 
fact, Barry was the kind of man who is always right, 
while others, and particularly those in his own pro- 
fession, were always wrong: a type not yet extinct. 
His eccentricities were endless, even to placing on the 
table whenever he dined out a sum of money (never 
exceeding two shillings) to pay what he considered 
to be the price of the meal, so that he might thus 
flatter himself that he had retained his independence. 
Things came to such a pass in his growing hostility 
to other artists that when his lodgings were broken 
into and £400 were stolen, Barry posted a notice on 
his door stating that the theft was committed by the 
remaining thirty-nine R.A.s. His venom becoming 
unbearable, he was expelled from the Academy in 
1799. 

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THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY 

The unhappy man lived for only seven years more, 
unkempt and solitary, brooding on his wrongs, 
consumed with bitterness at the thought of success- 
ful rivals, and projecting various grandiose schemes 
of painting which never came to anything. He is 
described by Sir Martin Archer Shee as "a little 
ordinary man, not in the most graceful deshabille, 
a dirty shirt, without any cravat, his neck open, and 
a tolerable length of beard ; his stockings, not of the 
purest white in the world, hanging about his heels." 
As he grew older he retired farther and farther from 
human society. The Society of Arts remained his 
friend, not only calling a meeting at which £1000 
was subscribed for him, but providing a place for 
his poor body to lie in state' in after his miserable 
death. He was buried in St. Paul's. 

At the foot of the stairs of the Society of Arts is 
the statue of a florid Meredithian figure named Dr. 
Joshua Ware, of whom I should like to know more. 

The most beautiful house in the Adelphi is Alli- 
ance House in Adam Street, looking down John 
Street. The most famous house, now transformed 
into the Little Theatre, is that built for Mr. Coutts 
at the back of his bank in the Strand. Robert Street 
was arranged to lie as it does in order that Mr. 
Coutts, standing at his southern windows, might 
have a view over the river to the heights of Syden- 
ham. 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

The Adelphi has had many illustrious inhabitants 
and frequenters; but what to my mind is the most 
interestingly haunted of its houses is unmarked by 
a tablet. This is No. 8 Adelphi Terrace, where Dr. 
Thomas Monro (1759-1833), that admirable physi- 
cian, acted as host and patron to the more promising 
of the young water-colour artists of his day, and 
particularly the youthful Turner, the youthful Gir- 
tin (who, alas! did not live long enough to be more 
than youthful), and the ill-fated John Robert Coz- 
ens, that great water-colour pioneer. Hither also 
came Cotman, Peter de Wint and Varley, all wel- 
comed by the Doctor and helped by him. 

One Adelphi memory I feel cannot possibly be 
excluded from this book, since it involves several of 
the best of Londoners, makes No. 5 Adelphi Terrace 
a more vital spot, records one of the happiest days 
in Boswell's life, and shows Dr. Johnson at his best. 
No book on London can have too much about John- 
son in it. 

The day was Friday, April 20, 1781. Garrick 
was no more; but Mrs. Garrick still lived in the 
house where he had died two years earlier. Says 
Bos well: "On Friday, April 20, I spent with him 
one of the happiest days that I remember to have 
enjoyed in the whole course of my life. Mrs. Gar- 
rick, whose grief for the loss of her husband was, 
I believe, as sincere as wounded affection and ad- 
[212] 



THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY 

miration could produce, had this day, for the first 
time since his death, a select party of his friends to 
dine with her. The company was, Miss Hannah 
More, who lived with her, and whom she called her 
Chaplain; Mrs. Boscawen, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, 
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Burney, Dr. Johnson, and 
myself. 

"We found ourselves very elegantly entertained 
at her house in the Adelphi, where I have passed 
many a pleasing hour with him 'who gladdened life.' 
She looked well, talked of her husband with com- 
placency, and while she cast her eyes ofi his por- 
trait, which hung over the chimney-piece, said, that 
'death was now the most agreeable object to her.' 
The very semblance of David Garrick was cheering. 
Mr. Beauclerk, with happy propriety, inscribed un- 
der that fine portrait of him, which by Lady Diana's 
kindness is now the property of my friend Mr. Lang- 
ton, the following passage from his beloved Shake- 
speare : 

*. . . A merrier man, 
Within the limit of becoming mirth, 
I never spent an hour's talk withal. 
His eye begets occasion for his wit ; 
For every object that the one doth catch 
The other turns to a mirth-moving jest; 
Which his fair tongue (Conceit's expositor) 
Delivers in such apt and gracious words, 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

That aged ears play truant at his tales, 
And younger hearings are quite ravished; 
So sweet and voluble is his discourse.* 

We were all in fine spirits ; and I whispered to Mrs. 
Boscawen, 'I believe this is as much as can be made 
of life.' 

"In addition to a splendid entertainment, we were 
regaled with Lichfield ale, which had a peculiar ap- 
propriate value. Sir Joshua, and Dr. Burney, and 
I, drank cordially of it to Dr. Johnson's health; and 
though he would not join us, he as cordially an- 
swered, 'Gentlemen, I wish you all as well as you 
do me.' 

"The general effect of this day dwells upon my 
mind in fond remembrance, but I do not find much 
conversation recorded. What I have preserved shall 
be faithfully given. One of the company mentioned 
Mr. Thomas Hollis, the strenuous Whig, who used 
to send over Europe presents of democratical books, 
with their boards stamped with daggers and caps of 
liberty. Mrs. Carter said, 'He was a bad man: he 
used to talk uncharitably.' Johnson. Tohl poh! 
Madam; who is the worse for being talked of un- 
charitably? Besides, he was a dull poor creature as 
ever lived: and I believe he would not have done 
harm to a man whom he knew to be of very opposite 
principles to his own. I remember once at the 
Society of Arts, when an advertisement was to be 
[214] 



THE ALE. PHI AND JAMES BARRY 

drawn up, he pointed me out as the man who could 
do it best. This, you will observe, was kindness to 
me. I however slipt away and escaped it.' Mrs. 
Carter having said of the same person, 1 doubt he 
was an Atheist.' Johnson. 1 don't know that. 
He might perhaps have become one, if he had had 
time to ripen, (smiling). He might have exuberated 
into an Atheist.' 

"Sir Joshua Reynolds praised Mudge's Sermons, 
Johnson. ^Mudge's Sermons are good, but not 
practical. He grasps more sense than he can hold; 
he takes more corn than he can make into meal; 
he opens a wide prospect, but it is so distant, it is 
indistinct. I love Blair's Sermons, Though the dog 
is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, and every thing 
he should not be, I was the first to praise them. Such 
was my candour' (smiling). Mrs. Boscawen. 
'Such his great merit, to get the better of your preju- 
dices.' Johnson. 'Why, Madam, let us compound 
the matter; let us ascribe it to my candour, and his 
merit.' 

"In the evening we had a large company in the 
drawing-room; several ladies, the Bishop of Killaloe, 
Dr. Percy, Mr. Chamberlayne of the Treasury, etc. 
etc. Somebody said, the life of a mere literary man 
could not be very entertaining. Johnson. 'But it 
certainly may. This is a remark which has been 
made, and repeated, without justice; why should the 

[215] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

life of a literary man be less entertaining than the 
life of any other man^ Are there not as interesting 
varieties in such a life"? As a literary life it may 
be very entertaining.' Boswell. 'But it must be 
better surely, when it is diversified with a little 
active variety — such as his having gone to Jamaica : 
— or — his having gone to the Hebrides.' Johnson 
was not displeased at this. 

"Talking of a very respectable author, he told us 
a curious circumstance in his life which was, that 
he had married a printer's devil. Reynolds. 'A 
Printer's devil. Sir! Why, I thought a printer's 
devil was a creature with a black face and in rags.' 
Johnson. *Yes, Sir. But I suppose he had her face 
washed and put clean clothes on her. (Then look- 
ing very serious and very earnest). And she did not 
disgrace him; — the woman had a bottom of good 
sense.' The word bottom thus introduced, was so 
ludicrous when contrasted with his gravity, that 
most of us could not forbear tittering and laughing; 
though I recollect that the Bishop of Killaloe kept 
his countenance with perfect steadiness, while Miss 
Hannah More slyly hid her face behind a lady's 
back who sat on the same settee with her. His 
pride could not bear that any expression of his should 
excite ridicule, when he did not intend it; he there- 
fore resolved to assume and exercise despotick power, 
glanced sternly around, and called out in a strong 

[216] 



THE ADELPHI AND JAMES BARRY 

tone, Where's, the merriment^' Then collecting 
himself, and looking awful, to make us feel how 
he could impose restraint, and as it were searching 
his mind for a still more ludicrous word, he slowly 
pronounced, T say the woman was fundamentally 
sensible;' as if he had said, hear this now, and laugh 
if you dare. We all sat composed as at a funeral. 

"He and I walked away together; we stopped a 
little while by the rails of the Adelphi, looking on 
the Thames, and I said to him with some emotion, 
that I was now thinking of two friends we had lost, 
who once lived in the buildings behind us, Beauclerk 
and Garrick. 'Ay, Sir, (said he tenderly,) and two 
such friends as cannot be supplied.' " 

The Adelphi is still a favourite abode of men of 
letters, for it is central yet retired, and the broth- 
ers Adam planned rooms of peculiar comfort. At 
this moment were a Zeppelin to destroy this secluded 
district and all its inhabitants, the world would be 
poorer at any rate by the loss of its most fanciful 
and freakishly humorous playwright and of its most 
iconoclastic and provocative playwright. There are 
others too ; but I name no names. 



[217] 



CHAPTER XVII 



The houses of the illustrious — Byron's various London 
dwellings — Madame d'Arblay and Sir Walter — The 
Flaxman Gallery — Jeremy Bentham — A strange will — 
Every man his own statue — Life in death — A Univer- 
sity College reception — Hogarth's house at Chiswick — 
Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 

SINCE it was the Society of Arts which in 1866 
began the laudable practice of setting up me- 
morial tablets on London houses famous as the homes 
of eminent persons, let us now see to what extent the 
work has been carried out. 

Taking the Society's tablets in alphabetical order, 
we come first to that of Joanna Baillie ( 1762-1851) 
the playwright, at Bolton House, Windmill Hill, 
Hampstead. Joanna is no longer read, I fear. In- 
deed, I should be surprised to find that any of her 
writings are in print. 

Next, at 36 Castle Street, where he had his de- 
plorable lodgings, is a tablet to the Society's own 
painter, James Barry, of whom I have said enough. 

[218] . 



THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS 

50 Wimpole Street, where Elizabeth Barrett 
Browning (1806-1861) once lived, and where 
Browning courted her. From here she ran away to 
be married. 

19 Warwick Crescent, Paddington, the later home 
of Robert Browning (1812-1889) after his wife's 
death. The canal reminded him of Venice. 

37 Gerrard Street, Soho, where Edmund Burke 
(1729-1797) lived. This house is now a restaurant. 

16 Holies Street, Oxford Street, where Lord By- 
ron ( 1788-1824) was born. The house being pulled 
down in 1889, the occupiers of the business premises 
now occupying its site, Messrs. Lewis & Sons, erected 
the bronze relief that now marks the place. Another 
memorial to Byron, also erected privately, is to be 
seen at No. 8 St. James's Street, over Pope Roach's, 
the chemist. In that memorial his romantic bust is 
seen, and beneath are the words "The Pilgrim of 
Eternity." He was at this address at odd times from 
1808 to 1814, for when in London he preferred to 
move about in a very pilgrim-like way and was often 
at hotels — Gordon's and Dorant's in Albemarle 
Street, for example, — rather than in rooms. Among 
his other lodgings was No. 2 The Albany. After 
his marriage he took 13 Piccadilly Terrace, later 139 
Piccadilly, where, by courtesy of its present owner, 
the poets now meet to read their works in public. 
Two houses that are still practically as they were 

[219] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

when Byron used to visit them are Mr. Murray's, 
at 50A Albemarle Street, and 22 St. James's Place, 
where Rogers lived. 

37 Conduit Street, a home of George Canning 
(1770-1827) the statesman and satirist. 

263 Hampstead Road, the home of George Cruik- 
shank (1792-1878) the illustrator. 

1 1 Bolton Street, Piccadilly, where Fanny Bumey, 
afterwards Madame d'Arblay (1752-1840), dwelt 
on settling down in London as a widow in 1818. It 
was here that Sir Walter Scott, with Rogers, visited 
the famous old lady and, to his great pleasure, was 
told by her that she wished to meet but two persons, 
himself and Canning. 

Furnival's Inn, since pulled down, the first home 
of Charles Dickens (1812-1870) after his marriage. 
Here he wrote part of Pickwick^ but nothing remains 
to mark the real spot. A little later I shall have 
more to say about Dickens's London homes. 

43 Gerrard Street, Soho, where John Dryden 
(1631-1700) lived. It is now rebuilt. The street 
has become a stronghold of the Cinema industry, 
and the poet's house is a film producer's offices. 

2 Blandford Street, Portman Square, where 
Michael Faraday (1791-1867), the great chemical 
investigator, was apprenticed to a bookseller. 

7 Burlington Street, Fitzroy Square, the home of 
John Flaxman (1755-1826) the sculptor. Of Flax- 
[220] 



THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS 

man little is heard to-day; but no one can visit the 
Flaxman collection at University College without 
an enrichment of vision. There are, in the upper 
corridors of that building, let into the wall, a large 
number of Flaxman's casts, many of them of great 
beauty, and all marked by his fine qualities of sin- 
cerity. I reproduce one in this volume. There are 
also a number of his drawings. 

While we are at University College let me say 
that here is to be found the oddest thing in London. 
We have seen, on the fagade of the London Uni- 
versity, in Burlington Gardens, a statue of Jeremy 
Bentham, the jurist and philosopher; well, we may 
see here Bentham himself. 3ut first a word as to 
that curious creature of pure intellect. 

Jeremy Bentham, who was born in Houndsditch 
in 1748, the son of an attorney and the great- 
grandson of a pawnbroker, began to study Latin 
at four, read Rapin's History of England while 
still unbreeched, and at five was known as "The 
Philosopher." At seven he went to Westminster, 
and at twelve to Oxford. At sixteen he took his 
degree and began to read for the Bar ; at nineteen he 
left Oxford, which he had found chiefly the home 
of "insincerity and mendacity," and began his career 
as a social inquirer. The rest of his long life, spent 
chiefly in London and lasting until 1832, was occu- 
pied almost exclusively in ponderings for the good 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

of the State. His works are numerous, and in the 
strong room of University College are notes for yet 
myriad more, and all of them have this altruistic pur- 
pose. Perhaps the best is The Introduction of Frin- 
ciples of Morals to Legislation^ an avowed attempt 
to secure the greatest happiness of the greatest num- 
ber of the community. 

Bentham's home was in Queen's Square, Blooms- 
bury, which is still one of the quietest of London's 
backwaters, having no thoroughfare into Guildford 
Street. Here he dwelt in a house which he called 
The Hermitage, reading, meditating, discussing, 
and dictating to his "disciples." A description of 
him in very old age runs thus: "His apparel hung 
loosely about him, and consisted chiefly of a grey 
coat, light breeches, and white woollen stockings, 
hanging loosely about his legs; whilst his vener- 
able locks, which floated over the collar and down 
his back, were surmounted by a straw hat of most 
grotesque and indescribable shape, communicating 
to his appearance a strong contrast to the quietude 
and sobriety of his general aspect. He wended 
round the walks of his garden at a pace somewhat 
faster than a walk but not so quick as a trot." He 
never married, but there was one lady whom he 
approached, with a measure of romance, more than 
once. 

During his last illness Bentham asked his physi- 
[222] 



THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS 

cian, Southwood Smith, if there was any hope. 
"No," said the doctor. "Very well/' said the old 
man, "then minimize pain." He died on June 6 
1832. 

I should not in this book be writing about Ben- 
tham at all but for the curious circumstance that, 
although eighty-four years have passed since that 
day, the old man still can be visited in the flesh; still 
receives guests. 

Let me give that statement the amplification which 
it demands. One of Bentham's by-ways of specu- 
lation led to the question of the preservation of the 
human frame after dissolution, so that posterity 
might know what kind of men had toiled for it. The 
ordinary means for imparting such knowledge, the 
art of the sculptor and the painter, seeming to him 
inadequate, he therefore in all gravity outlined a* 
scheme for securing what he called an "auto-icon." 
The head of the deceased was to be so treated that 
it retained its conformation; the body was to be re- 
duced to a skeleton; the skeleton was then to be 
articulated and attired in characteristic clothes and 
the head replaced upon it. Bentham, whose ideal, we 
must always remember, was the greatest happiness of 
the greatest number, even went so far as to suggest 
that "a country gentleman," filled with that ad- 
miration for his ancestors which should animate all 
good citizens of the state, might set up the auto-icons 

[223] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

of his family alternately between the trees in the 
avenue leading to his dwelling. "Copal varnish," he 
added, "would protect the face from the effect of 
rain, and caoutchouc the habiliments." To what 
extent the squires of England adopted this cheerful 
idea may be guessed ; but had they done so the adver- 
tisements of manor houses in Country Life, for ex- 
ample, would be far more entertaining even than 
they are. 

Bentham, however, being a consistent man, was 
careful himself to practise what he preached. He 
made a will (one draft of which I have read) in- 
structing his executors to deal with his body in this 
way. It was to be dressed in his ordinary clothes 
and placed in his favourite chair, m a case or box, 
and the attitude was to illustrate him in the act of 
thought between two sentences of a treatise. Then, 
on certain occasions when his disciples met to discuss 
his philosophy, their revered master was to be borne 
from his box and set at the head of the table in the 
midst of them, so that they might be cheered by the 
stimulus of his presence. 

Everything that Bentham required was done, 
except that the last genial suggestion was not carried 
out. In the Anatomical Museum at University Col- 
lege you may see, if you can obtain the right au- 
thority, a large cupboard, which, when unlocked, dis- 
closes the sage. The swiftest way to describe the 
[224] 




dickens' house, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE 
(ST. MARY-LE-BONE IN THE DISTANCE) 



THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS 

figure is to say that it resembles the well-known ad- 
vertisement of Quaker Oats. There he sits in his 
favourite chair, although not precisely as the will 
directed, for he is engaged not in writing, but has 
his gloves on and his trusty stick in one hand. In 
another particular also there is a change, but that is 
due to the ravages of time, for his head, instead of 
being on his shoulders, is now under a glass shade 
between his feet, a new wax head, modelled after 
Pickersgill's portrait, taking its place beneath the 
astonishing hat. The features of the real head have 
somewhat fallen away, but the long straggling grey 
locks remain, and with its grey-glass eyes it would' 
be sufficiently terrifying, to ^ny but a Benthamite 
of strong nerve, if suddenly encountered. Between 
the conformation of the original physiognomy and 
the waxen one there seems to me to be great diver- 
gences; but whether they destroy the theory of the 
auto-icon or support it, it is too late to say. 

And so we resume our list of the Society of Arts' 
tablets. 

7 Craven Street, Strand, where Benjamin Frank- 
lin (1706-1790), the American diplomatist and 
philosopher, lodged for some years on one of his mis- 
sions to Europe. 

Schomberg House, Pall Mall, where Thomas 
Gainsborough (1727-1788) the painter lived. This 
house was transformed into the War Office, and then 

[225] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

was pulled down to make room for the Automobile 
Club; so that its present association with Gains- 
borough is remote indeed. Not only did Gains- 
borough reside here, but it was in this building that 
Lady Hamilton, as the loveliest of girls, assisted the 
quack doctor Graham in his Temple of Hygieia. 

4 Adelphi Terrace, W.C, where David Garrick 
(1717-1779) lived and entertained and died. The 
house was No. 5 in Garrick's day. 

7 Bentinck Street, W., where Edward Gibbon 
(1737-1794), the historian of Rome, lived for some 
years and began his great work. 

25 Brook Street, one of the lodgings of George 
Frederick Handel (1685-1759) the composer. 

Bertram House, Hampstead, the home of Sir 
Rowland Hill (1795-1879), who introduced penny 
postage. 

30 Leicester Square, the home of William Ho- 
garth (1697-1764), now the Tenison School. Ho- 
garth's other home was at Chiswick, in a house, still 
preserved, of which I write in another chapter. 

17 Gough Square, Fleet Street, the home of Dr. 
Johnson (1709-1784) from 1748 to 1758. This 
house, where the Dictionary was compiled, is now 
promised to the nation. The house in Bolt Court, 
in which he died, no longer exists. I describe the 
Gough Square house in a later chapter. 
[226] 



THE SOCIETY OF ARTS' TABLETS 

Lawn Bank, John Street, Hampstead, where 
John Keats (1795-1821) lived. 

Bunhill Row, the later home of John Milton 
(1608-1674), where Paradise Lost and his other 
great poems were written and where he died. The 
house is no longer standing. 

3a King Street, St. James's, where that King in 
exile. Napoleon III (1808-1873), lodged. 

147 New Bond Street, one of the lodgings of Lord 
Nelson (1758-1805). 

35 St. Martin's Street, a home of Sir Isaac New- 
ton (1642-1727). Madame d'Arblay (then Fanny 
Burney) wrote some of Evelina in the same house. 
It is now demolished. 

15 Buckingham Street, Strand, the English lodg- 
ing of Peter the Great ( 1672-1725). This house no 
longer exists. 

47 Leicester Square, the home of Sir Joshua 
Reynolds ( 1 723- 1 792 ) . This is now largely merged 
in the auction rooms of Messrs. Puttick & Simpson. 

54 Hunter Street, Brunswick Square, where John 
Ruskin (1819-1900) was born. 

14 Savile Row, W., where Richard Brinsley 
Sheridan (1751-1816), author of The School for 
Scandal^ died. It was to this house that his friend 
the Prince Regent should have sent the help for 
which the improvident dramatist appealed; but, as 
Moore's scathing lines tell us, he did not. The body 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

had to be removed secretly to another place for fear 
the creditors might snatch it and hold it to ransom, 

17 Upper Baker Street, where Mrs. Siddons 
(1755-1831) the great actress lived. The house has 
been pulled down and rebuilt. 

Kensington Palace Green, the last home of Thack- 
eray (1811-1863), built by himself with money 
which he earned chiefly as editor of The Cornhill 
Magazine, It has recently been much altered. Mr. 
Livens' drawing of Kensington Palace depicts a 
view which Thackeray had from his windows. 

24 Old Square, Lincoln's Inn, the rooms of John 
Thurloe (1616-1668), Secretary of State. 

Belmont, Rosslyn Hill, Hampstead, the home of 
Sir Harry Vane (1613-1662), another Secretary of 
State, who was executed on Tower Hill. 

5 Arlington Street, W., the residence of Sir Robert 
Walpole (1676-1745), Prime Minister. 

That completes the Society of Arts' tablets — 
erected at the rate of one a year. 



[228] 



CHAPTER XVIII 



Charles Dickens's London homes — i Devonshire Terrace — 
The Philosophic Mr. Topping — Advice to Macready — 
The perils of London — Bogus tomes — A Dickens mu- 
seum — Disraeli and London — Kensington Gardens — A 
comparison of cities — Charles Lamb's birthplace — Hein- 
rich Heine in London — Unpopular tablets. 

IN 1901 the Society of Arts handed over its task 
to the London County Council, and since that 
date a great number of new tablets have been erected. 
I append a full list to date (1916), in the order in 
which they were set up. 

Holly Lodge, Campden Hill, where Lord Mac- 
aulay (1800-1859) died. 

No. 48 Doughty Street, a residence of Charles 
Dickens (1812-1870). 

In addition to this one, tablets were placed on 
three other of the residences of Dickens : Furnival's 
Inn, as we have seen; 13 Johnson Street, N.W.; 
and 1 Devonshire Terrace, of which Mr. Livens has 
made a drawing. At 48 Doughty Street Dickens 

[229] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

wrote Oliver Twist and Nicholas Nickleby. He 
moved to Devonshire Terrace in 1839 and remained 
there until 1851. At Devonshire Terrace he wrote 
The Old Curiosity Shop^ Barnaby Rudge^ Martin 
Chuzzlewit^ Dombey and Son^ David Copperfield 
and some of the Christmas Books, A characteristic 
description of it is given by Dickens in a letter to 
Professor Felton on his return from America: "I 
date this from London, where I have come, as a 
good profligate, graceless bachelor, for a day or two ; 
leaving my wife and babbies at the seaside. . . . 
Heavens I if you were but here at this minute ! A 
piece of salmon and a steak are cooking in the 
kitchen; it's a very wet day, and I have had a fire 
lighted; the wine sparkles on a side-table; the room 
looks the more snug from being the only un6\?>' 
mantled one in the house; plates are warming for 
Forster and Maclise, whose knock I am momentarily 
expecting; that groom I told you of, who never 
comes into the house, except when we are all out of 
town, is walking about in his shirt-sleeves without 
the smallest consciousness of impropriety; a great 
mound of proofs are waiting to be read aloud, after 
dinner. With what a shout I would clap you down 
into the easiest chair, my genial Felton, if you could 
but appear, and order you a pair of slippers in- 
stantly ! 

"Since I have written this, the aforesaid groom — 

[230] 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

a very small man (as the fashion is), with iiery red 
hair (as the fashion is not) — ^has looked very hard at 
me and fluttered about me at the same time, like a 
giant butterfly. After a pause, he says in a Sam 
Wellerish kind of way: 1 vent to the club this 
mornin', sir. There vorn't no letters, sir.' 'Very 
good. Topping.' 'How's missis, sir?' Tretty well, 
Topping.' 'Glad to hear it, sir. My missis ain't 
wery well, sir.' 'No?' 'No, sir; she's a goin', sir, 
to have an hincrease wery soon, and it makes her 
rather nervous, sir; and ven a young voman gets 
at all down at sich a time, sir, she goes down wery 
deep, sir.' To this sentiment I replied affirmatively, 
and then he adds, as he stirs the fire (as if he were 
thinking out loud) : 'Wot a mystery it is! Wot a 
go is natur' I' With which scrap of philosophy, he 
gradually gets nearer to the door, and so fades out 
of the room." 

It was from the same house that in 1851 Dickens 
wrote to Macready, the actor, who had then retired 
to the country, telling him of the joys and dangers of 
London. "Ah I you country gentlemen, who live at 
home at ease, how little do you think of us among 
the London fleas ! But they tell me you are coming 
in for Dorsetshire. You must be very careful, when 
you come to town to attend to your parliamentary 
duties, never to ask your way of people in the streets. 
They will misdirect you for what the vulgar call 'a 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

lark,' meaning, in this connection, a jest at your 
expense. Always go into some respectable shop or 
apply to a policeman. You will know him by his 
being dressed in blue, with very dull silver buttons, 
and by the top of his hat being made of sticking- 
plaster. You may perhaps see in some odd place 
an intelligent-looking man, with a curious little 
wooden table before him and three thimbles on it. 
He will want you to bet, but don't do it. He really 
desires to cheat you. And don't buy at auctions 
where the best plated-goods are being knocked down 
for next to nothing. These, too, are delusions. If 
you wish to go to the play, to see real good acting 
(though a little more subdued than perfect tragedy 

should be), I would recommend you to see at 

the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Anybody will 
show it to you. It is near the Strand, and you may 
know it by seeing no company whatever at any of 
the doors. 

"Cab fares are eighteen pence a mile. A mile 
London measure is half a Dorsetshire mile, recollect. 
Porter is twopence per pint; what is called Stout 
is fourpence. The Zoological Gardens are in the 
Regent's Park, and the price of admission is one 
shilling. Of the streets, I would recommend you to 
see Regent Street and the Quadrant, Bond Street, 
Piccadilly, Oxford Street, and Cheapside. I think 
these will please you after a time, though the tumult 
[232] 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

and bustle will at first bewilder you. If I can serve 
you in any way, pray command me. And with my 
best regards to your happy family, so remote from 
this Babel." 

On leaving Devonshire Terrace in 1851 Dickens 
moved to Tavistock House, which still stands but 
has no tablet. It was for the library here that he 
made his list of dummy books, among which were : 
Toots's Universal Letter- Writer. 2 vols. 
Jonah's Account of the Whale. 
Kant's Ancient Humbugs. 10 vols. 
The Gunpowder Magazine. 4 vols. 
Steele. By the Author of "Ion." 
Lady Godiva on the Horse. 
Hansard's Guide to Refreshing Sleep. As many 
volumes as possible. 

Dickens's first letter from Tavistock House was to 
the binder of these jests. In this house he wrote 
Bleak House, Hard Times, Little Dorrit, and the 
Tale of Two Cities; but it must be remembered that 
he was a restless man, often moving about, while his 
occupation of Gad's Hill coincided with part of the 
Tavistock House period. 

Dickens left Tavistock House in i860 and never 
again had a London residence. Other transitory 
abodes of the great novelist in London were 9 Osna- 
burgh Terrace, in 1844; Chester Place, Regent's 
Park, in 1847; and, later, 3 Hanover Terrace, 57 

[233] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Gloucester Place, 5 Hyde Park Place, and 26 Well- 
ington Street, over the office of All the Year Round, 

It is to be hoped that if ever their existence is 
threatened, either 1 Devonshire Terrace or Tavistock 
House will be secured for the nation, as Johnson's 
and Carlyle's houses have been. London at present 
has no Dickens museum beyond the Dyce and Foster 
room at South Kensington. There is an odd little 
collection of rather indifferent relics in his birth- 
place at Portsmouth; but of course he should be 
rightly honoured in London too. 

No. 4 Whitehall Gardens, where Sir Robert Peel 
(1788-1850) the Prime Minister died. 

No. 56 Devonshire Street, the residence of Sir 
John Herschel (1792-1871) the astronomer. 

No. 67 Wimpole Street, a residence of Henry 
Hallam (1777-1859) the historian and father of 
Arthur Hallam, Tennyson's friend. 

No. 22 Theobald's Road, the birthplace of Ben- 
jamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield (1804-1881). 
The place of Disraeli's death is also marked: No. 
19 Curzon Street; and here we might pause for a 
moment because, among epicures of London, Disraeli 
stands high, and it is interesting to collect a few 
of his dicta on the city in which this dazzling 
Oriental rose to power. 

This is from Tancred: "It seems to the writer 
of this history that the inhabitants of London are 

[234] 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

scarcely sufficiently sensible of the beauty of its en- 
virons. On every side the most charming retreats 
open to them, nor is there a metropolis in the world 
surrounded by so many rural villages, picturesque 
parks, and elegant casinos. With the exception of 
Constantinople, there is no city in the world that 
can for a moment enter into competition with it. 
For himself, though in his time something of a 
rambler, he is not ashamed in this respect to confess 
to a legitimate Cockney taste; and for his part he 
does not know where life can flow on more pleasantly 
than in sight of Kensington Gardens, viewing the 
silver Thames winding by the bowers of Rosebank, 
or inhaling from its terraces the refined air of 
graceful Richmond. 

"In exactly ten minutes it is in the power of every 
man to free himself from all the tumult of the 
world: the pangs of love, the throbs of ambition, 
the wear and tear of play, the recriminating boudoir, 
the conspiring club, the rattling hell ; and find him- 
self in a sublime sylvan solitude superior to the 
cedars of Lebanus, and inferior only in extent to 
the chestnut forests of Anatolia. It is Kensington 
Gardens that is almost the only place that has 
realized his idea of the forests of Spenser and 
Ariosto. What a pity, that instead of a princess 
in distress we meet only a nursery-maid! But here 
is the fitting and convenient locality to brood over 

[235] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

our thoughts; to project the great and to achieve 
the happy. It is here that we should get our speeches 
by heart, invent our impromptus; muse over the 
caprices of our mistresses, destroy a cabinet, and 
save a nation." 

This also is from Tancred: "What is most strik- 
ing in London is its vastness. It is the illimitable 
feeling that gives it a special character. London is 
not grand. It possesses only one of the qualifica- 
tions of a great city, size; but it wants the equally 
important one, beauty. It is the union of these two 
qualities that produced the grand cities, the Romes, 
the Baby Ions, the hundred portals of the Pharaohs; 
multitudes and magnificence; the millions influenced 
by art. Grand cities are unknown since the beautiful 
has ceased to be the principle of invention. Paris, 
of modern capitals, has aspired to this character; 
but if Paris be a beautiful city, it certainly is not a 
grand one; its population is too limited, and, from 
the nature of their dwellings, they cover a compara- 
tively small space. Constantinople is picturesque; 
nature has furnished a sublime site, but it has little 
architectural splendour, and you reach the environs 
with a fatal facility. London overpowers us with 
its vastness. 

"Though London is vast, it is very monotonous. 
All those new districts that have sprung up within 
the last half-century, the creatures of our commercial 

[236] 



II 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

and colonial wealth, it is impossible to conceive any- 
thing more tame, more insipid, more uniform. Pan- 
eras is like Marylebone, Marylebone is like Pad- 
dington ; all the streets resemble each other, you must 
read the names of the squares before you venture to 
knock at a door. This amount of building capital 
ought to have produced a great city. What an op- 
portunity for Architecture suddenly summoned to 
furnish habitations for a population equal to that of 
the city of Bruxelles, and a population, too, of great 
wealth ! Marylebone alone ought to have produced 
a revolution in our domestic architecture. It did 
nothing. It was built by Act of Parliament. Par- 
liament prescibed even a facade. It is Parliament 
to whom we are indebted for your Gloucester Places, 
and Baker Streets, and Harley Streets, and Wimpole 
Streets, and all those flat, dull, spiritless streets, re- 
sembling each other like a large family of plain chil- 
dren, with Portman Place and Portman Square for 
their respectable parents. The influence of our Par- 
liamentary government upon the fine arts is a subject 
worth pursuing. The power that produced Baker 
Street as a model for street architecture in its cele- 
brated Building Act, is the power that prevented 
Whitehall from being completed, and which sold to 
foreigners all the pictures which the King of Eng- 
land had collected to civilise his people." 

[237] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

No. 14 York Place, Portman Square, a residence 
of William Pitt (1759-1806). 

No. 12 Clarges Street, a residence of Edmund 
Kean (1787-1833), the great tragic actor. 

No. 48 Welbeck Street, a residence of Thomas 
Young (1773-1829), the physician. 

No. 14 Hertford Street, Park Lane, a residence 
of Edward Jenner (1749-1823), the discoverer of 
vaccination. 

Holly Lodge, Wimbledon Park Road, a residence 
of "George Eliot" the novelist, Marian Evans 
(1819-1880). 

No. 34 Gloucester Square, where Robert Stephen- 
son, the engineer (1803-1859), died. 

No. 10 Upper Cheyne Row, a residence of Leigh 
Hunt (1784-1859). 

No. 12 Savile Row, where George Grote (1794- 
1871), the historian of Greece, died. 

No. 16 Young Street, Kensington, a residence 
of W. M. Thackeray (1811-1863). It was then 
No. 13. Thackeray was here from 1847-1853, and 
here wrote Vanity Fair, Pendennis, Esmond and 
part of The Newcomes, in fact his best works. 

No. 56 Great Queen Street, a residence of Boswell 
( 1 740- 1 795 ) . Demolished by the Freemasons. 

No. 6 Frith Street, where William Hazlitt (1778- 
1830) died. 
[238] 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

No. 27 Upper Baker Street, where Mrs. Siddons 
died. A supplementary tablet. 

No. 71 Berners Street, a residence of S. T. Cole- 
ridge (1772-1834). Now demolished. 

No. 23 Suffolk Street, Pall Mall, where Richard 
Cobden (1804-1865), the statesman, died. 

No. 110 Gower Street, a residence of Charles 
Darwin (1809-1882), 

No. 18 Stamford Street, where John Rennie 
(1761-1821), the Scotch engineer, died. 

No. 110 Hallam Street, where Dante Gabriel 
Rossetti (1828-1882), the poet and painter, was 
born. 

No. 76 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, where 
John Constable (1776-1837); the painter, died. 

No. 14 Doughty Street, a residence of Sydney 
Smith (1771-1845). 

No. 31 Baker Street, the birthplace of Edward 
Bulwer-Lytton, Lord Lytton (1806-1873), the 
novelist. 

No. Ill Broomwood Road, Clapham, which 
stands on the site of Broomwood House, a residence 
of William Wilberforce (1759-1833), the emanci- 
pator. 

No. 144 Kensington High Street, a residence of 
Sir David Wilkie (1785-1841), the Scotch painter. 

No. 22 St. James's Place, where Samuel Rogers 
(1763-1855), the banker poet, lived and died. 

[239] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

No. 33 Ampton Street, a residence of Thomas 
Carlyle (1795-1881). 

No. 1 Orme Square, a residence of Sir Rowland 
Hill. 

No. 54 Great Marlborough Street, a residence of 
Mrs. Siddons. 

No. 28 Bennett Street, Stamford Street, where 
John Leech (1817-1864), the great Punch artist, 
was born. 

No. 21 Queen Square, a residence of F. D. Mau- 
rice (1805-1872), the theologian. 

No. 88 Mile End Road, a residence of Captain 
Cook (1728-1779). 

No. 64 Duncan Terrace, a residence of Charles 
Lamb (1775-1834). This is the house known as 
Colebrooke Cottage, whither Lamb moved in 1823, 
remaining until 1827. He had other London homes, 
but this is the only one that is marked. Any one 
wishing to trace him through London must begin at 
2 Crown Office Row in the Temple, which still 
stands but has probably been refaced. According 
to a little post-card map of the Temple's historic 
sites, sold in the Temple, he lived at Lamb House 
too, but this is an error. The houses at Enfield 
and Edmonton in which Lamb lived are much as 
they were. So is Colebrooke Cottage. 

No. 4 Carlton Gardens, a residence of Lord 
Palmerston ( 1 784- 1 865 ) . 
[240] 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

No. 3 1 Golden Square, a residence of John Hunter 
(1728-1793), the great anatomist. 

No. 28 Broad Street, Golden Square, where Wil- 
liam Blake (1757-1827) was born. 

No. 39 Rodney Street, a residence of James Mill 
(1773-1836), and the birthplace of John Stuart 
Mill (1806-1873), both philosophers. 

No. 18 Kensington Square, a residence of J. S. 
Mill. 

No. 70 Knightsbridge, a residence of Charles 
Reade (1814-1884), the novelist. 

No. 23 Great Ormond Street, a residence of John 
Howard (1726-1790), the philanthropist. 

No. 73 Harley Street, a residence of Sir Charles 
Lyell (1797-1875) the geologist, and W. E. Glad- 
stone (1809-1898). 

Holly Bush Hill, Hampstead, a residence of 
George Romney (1734-1802), the painter. 

No. 87 Jermyn Street, a residence of Sir Isaac 
Newton. Rebuilt. 

No. 34 Arlington Road, where Charles Dibdin 
(1745-1814), the song writer, died. 

No. 17 Elm Tree Road, a residence of Thomas 
Hood (1799-1845), the poet. 

No. 14 Buckingham Street, where lived Samuel 
Pepys (1633-1703), Robert Harley (Earl of Ox- 
ford) (1661-1724), William Etty (1787-1849), 

[241] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

the painter, and Clarkson Stanfield (1793-1867), 
also a painter. 

No. 4 Beaumont Street, a residence of John Rich- 
ard Green (1837-1883), author of A Short History 
of the English People. 

Pitt House, Hampstead, a residence of William 
Pitt, Earl of Chatham (1708-1778). 

No. 1 Moreton Gardens, a residence of Madame 
Goldschmidt (Jenny Lind) (1820-1887). 

No. 28 Heme Hill, a residence of John Ruskin. 

No. 12 Hanover Square, a residence of Mary Som- 
erville (1780-1872), a scientific writer. 

Macartney House, Blackheath, a residence of 
General Wolfe (1727-1759). 

No. 61 Greek Street, a residence of Thomas De 
Quincey (1785-1859), the "English Opium Eater." 

St. Philip's Vicarage, Newark Street, a residence 
of John Richard Green. 

No. 16 Serjeants' Inn, a residence of J. T. Delane 
(1817-1879), Editor of The Times. 

No. 4 Marlborough Place, a residence of T. H. 
Huxley (1825-1895), the great biologist. 

No. 10 St. James's Square, a residence of three 
Prime Ministers: William Pitt, Earl of Chatham; 
Edward Geoffrey Stanley, Earl of Derby (1779- 
1869) ; and W. E. Gladstone. 

The Grove, Hampstead, a residence of Sir George 
Gilbert Scott (1811-1878), the architect. 
[242] 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

No. 32 Sohq Square, a residence of Sir Joseph 
Banks (1743-1820), the botanist. 

No. 37 Chesham Place, a residence of Lord John 
Russell (1792-1878), the statesman. 

No. 5 Great Stanhope Street, a residence of Lord 
Fitzroy James Henry Somerset, first Baron Raglan 
(1788-1855), the field-marshal. 

No. 22 Hereford Square, a residence of George 
Borrow (1803-1881), the author oi Lavengro. 

No. 17 Red Lion Square, a residence of Dante 
Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882), William Morris 
(1834-1896), and Sir Edward Bume- Jones (1833- 
1898). 

No. 28 Newman Street, W., a residence of 
Thomas Stothard (1755-1834), the book illustrator. 

No. 8 Canonbury Square, a residence of Samuel 
Phelps (1804-1878), the actor. 

No. 88 Paradise Street, S.E., a residence of T. H. 
Huxley. 

No. 12 Seymour Street, W., a residence of M. W. 
Balfe (1808-1870), the composer of The Bohemian 
Girl, 

No. 32 Craven Street, a residence of Heinrich 
Heine (1797-1856), the German poet and critic. 
Heine came to London in April 1827, and left in 
August of the same year, his chief object being to 
study our parliamentary system. He stayed first at 
the Tavistock Hotel, Covent Garden, and then 

[243I 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

moved to Craven Street. Heine did not like London 
or Londoners, but his verdict was not wholly un- 
favourable, and his visit produced some admirable 
literature, notably the episode of the mountebanks in 
Florentine Nights. 

Heine entered the city by the Thames, and here is 
a passage from his description of the end of the voy- 
age: "While the steamboat, and our conversation 
with it, advanced up the river, the sun had gone 
down, and its last beams lighted the Hospital of 
Greenwich, an imposing edifice like a palace, which 
consists of two wings, between which there is an 
empty space, which allows one to see a hill green 
with trees and crowned with a handsome tower. The 
crowd of ships went on continually increasing on the 
stream, and I wondered at the dexterity with which 
the great vessels made way for each other. One 
greets thus many a friendly face which one has never 
seen and never will see again. We passed so close 
by each other, that we might have shaken hands for 
welcome and departure at the same time." 

Of London's streets and houses Heine wrote thus : 
'1 had made up my mind not to be astonished at 
the vastness of London — of which I had heard so 
much. But it was the same with me as it was with 
the poor schoolboy who had made up his mind not 
to feel the flogging which he was to have received. 
The explanation of his affair was that he had ex- 

[244] 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

pected to receive the ordinary blows with an 
ordinary cane on his back, as usual, and, instead of 
that, he received extraordinary blows on an extraor- 
dinary place, with a number of extraordinary little 
twigs. I expected big palaces and saw nothing but 
little houses. But it was their uniformity and their 
incalculable number which imposed upon me so 
forcibly." 

Heine wrote with some admiration of Brougham 
and Cobbett, but for the Duke of Wellington he 
had nothing but scorn. He thought him a small 
man, and could not forgive him for defeating his 
darling Napoleon. The most amusing incident in 
this brief London sojourn w^s connected with the 
Duke, for to save his life from an irascible barber 
the poet had to affect an esteem for the great soldier. 
Let me tell the story in his own (translated) words. 

''My barber in London was a radical named Mr. 
White, a poor small man, in a coat so threadbare 
that it had a white glow upon it. He was so thin 
that his front face seemed like a profile, and the 
sighs of his breast were visible before they reached 
his lips. He used to sigh especially over the mis- 
fortunes of Old England, and the impossibility of 
her ever paying her national debt. 'Alas !' I heard 
him perpetually sighing, 'what need had the English 
people to trouble themselves about who ruled in 
France and what the French did in their land^ but 

[245] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

the high nobility and the High Church feared the 
principles of the French Revolution, and to put down 
these principles must John Bull spend his blood and 
his money and incur a mass of debts. The end of the 
war has been obtained; the Revolution has been put 
down; the wings of the French eagle have been 
clipped. The high nobility and the High Church 
can now feel secure that not an eagle can fly over the 
Channel, and the high nobility and the High Church 
should at least pay the debts made for their interest, 
and not for that of the poor people. Alas ! the poor 
people !' 

"Always Mr. White when he came to the *poor 
people' sighed deeper and complained anew that 
bread and porter were so dear, that the poor people 
must die of hunger to feed sleek lords, packs of 
hounds, and priests, and that there was only one 
help for it. At these words he used to sharpen his 
razor, and while he drew it backwards and forwards 
over his razor-strop, he murmured savagely and 
slowly, 'Lords, dogs, priests.' 

"But it was against the Duke of Wellington that 
his radical anger seethed the most vehemently. He 
properly spat poison and gall as soon as he began to 
speak of him ; and when he lathered me at such times 
he did so in a foaming frenzy. Once I was verily in 
fear, as he was shaving me close to the neck, while he 
passionately abused Wellington and muttered con- 

[246] 



1 




THE INNER TEMPLE HALL, FROM THE CORNER OF CROWN OFFICE ROW 
WHERE, AT NO. 2, CHARLES LAMB WAS BORN 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

tinually between whiles: 'If I had him now under 
the razor, I would spare him the trouble of cutting 
his throat, like his colleague and countryman Lon- 
donderry, who has cut his at North Cray in the 
county of Kent. Curse him !' 

"I felt then how the hand of the man trembled 
and, out of fear that he might, in his passion, fancy 
that I was the Duke of Wellington, I sought to tone 
down his passion and to sooth him gently. So I 
appealed to his national pride, and represented to 
him that Wellington had added to the fame of 
Englishmen; that he was but an innocent instru- 
ment in the hands of third parties; that he ate 
beef-steaks; and that in fine — ^heaven knows what 
I tried to say in favour of Wellington when the razor 
was at my throat." 

No. 28 Finchley Road, where Thomas Hood 
(1799-1845), the poet, died. 

No. 36 Onslow Square, a residence of W. M. 
Thackeray. 

No. 9 Arlington Street, a residence of Charles 
James Fox (1749-1806). 

No. 20 Soho Square, a residence of Speaker 
Onslow (1691-1768). 

No. 93 Cheyne Walk, where Mrs. Gaskell (1810- 
1865), the novelist, was born. 

Nos. 59 and 60 Lincoln's Inn Fields, a residence 

[247] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

of Hon. Spencer Perceval (1762-1812), the states- 
man. 

Carlisle Place, a residence of Cardinal Manning 
(1808-1892). 

No. 39 Montagu Square, a residence of Anthony 
Trollope (1815-1882). 

No. 225 Hampstead Road, a residence of Alfred, 
Lord Tennyson (1809-1892). 

No. 75 Great Dover Street, a residence of C. H. 
Spurgeon (1834-1892). 

No. 4 Adelphi Terrace, a residence of Robert 
Adam (1728-1792) and James Adam (d. 1794), 
who built the Adelphi. 

No. 36 Craven Street, Strand, a residence of 
Benjamin Franklin. Supplementary tablet. 

No. 25 Highbury Place, N., a residence of Joseph 
Chamberlain (1836-1914). 

No. 12 Park Crescent, a residence of Lord Lister 
(1827-1912), the physician and great experimenter 
with anaesthetics. 

Of the privately erected tablets I can give no 
list; but there are not a few. One, for example, 
may be seen on Florence Nightingale's house, 10 
South Street. Nor can I state how many efforts 
to commemorate houses have been frustrated. Some 
householders do not care to have their residences^ 
marked in this way. The objection is perhaps 
natural, for a tablet must involve a certain amount 

[248] 



THE COUNTY COUNCIL'S TABLETS 

of notice, while it often leads — such is hero-worship 
— to strangers asking to be allowed to enter the 
historic portals and even the rooms. 

No house in London bears a Shakespeare tablet. 
But let me say here that Miss Mabel E. Wotton 
has just pointed out, in her admirable contribution 
to a vast volume of homage to the Poet, on the 
Tercentenary of his death, that the Lord Raglan 
in Aldersgate, which has been continuously an inn 
longer than any other hostelry in the metropolis, 
was, as the Mermaid, often visited by Shakespeare 
and his friends, and may safely be visited by the 
pious pilgrim as a genuine haunt of the Swan. The 
cellars are as they were in his day. 



[249] 



CHAPTER XIX 

GOUGH SQUARE AND ST. CLEMENT DANES 

Mr. Cecil Harmsworth's gift — The houses of great men — 
Johnson in Gough Square — The Dictionary attic — John- 
son's bereavement — Gough Square visitors — An evening's 
conversation — St. Clement Danes — Pretty glass — The 
Doctor's window — The Doctor's pew — Conversations 
after church — The universal authority — Hogarth's house 
— The stolen gravestone — The mulberry tree — Old Chis- 
wick. 

DR. JOHNSON moved to 17 Gough Square 
from Holborn in 1748, when he was thirty- 
nine, carrying with him the materials for his Die- 
tionary and his staff of helpers. There he remained 
for ten years; and his house, now almost exactly as 
it was then, has been preserved for the nation by 
the liberality and public spirit of Mr. Cecil Harms- 
worth. Those people — and they are not a few — 
who dislike to visit such homes of great men as have 
been set apart as museums and memorials should 
make a point of looking over Gough Square before 
they express their final opinion on this subject; for 
[250] 



GOUGH SQUARE 

Johnson's hoase differs vastly from some of the oth- 
ers. Personally I should like to see not only more 
statues but more of these residences. I should like, 
as I have said elsewhere in this book, to see one of 
Dickens's London houses filled with Dickens lore 
and relics. I should like to see Lamb's cottage at 
Lslington, which is still very much as it was, pre- 
served for pilgrims. But I never felt so strongly 
on the question as I did in Johnson's house, when I 
observed with what taste and care the work of res- 
toration and refurnishing has been done. Ordinarily 
there is too much in such places. Here there is very 
little; one can miove about. 

To a certain extent this distinguished frugality 
of trappings is, I suppose, an error, for I will wager 
that one could not thus move about in Johnson's 
day; and I will wager too that there was never, 
between 1748 and 1758, a vase of daffodils on the 
table, such as I saw on my visit. The Great Lexi- 
cographer and daffodils do not seem quite to go 
together. But although a modern openness and 
light have come in, the spirit has not been disturbed ; 
one is conscious that in this very house one of the 
noblest and bravest of Englishmen once lived and 
worked and suffered; and the few pictures on the 
walls being wholly of himself and his friends, one 
can re-people the rooms too. So thorough has Mr. 
Harmsworth been, that in order that every inch of 

[2513 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

the house snould be accessible to Johnsonians (who 
are allowed to give tea-parties here) the caretaker, a 
most informative and loyal lady, has been provided, 
close by, with one of the prettiest little new homes 
in London. Here, in this quiet creek off the rushing 
river of Fleet Street, she dwells with the great ghosts. 
Interest in the Gough Square sanctuary will, for 
most visitors, centre in the Dictionary attic — a room 
under the roof extending right across the house. 
Boswell, who unfortunately for us did not know it 
— in 1 748 he was only eight years old — ^has nothing 
at first hand to tell of this historic apartment or of 
the house at all. But he touches upon it. In this 
room, he says, which was "fitted up like a country 
house," Johnson gave his copyists their task. "The 
words, partly taken from other dictionaries, and 
partly supplied by himself, having been first written 
down with spaces left between them, he delivered in 
writing their etymologies, definitions, and various 
significations. The authorities were copied from 
the books themselves, in which he had marked the 
passages with a black-lead pencil, the traces of which 
could easily be effaced. It is remarkable that he was 
so attentive in the choice of the passages in which 
words were authorised, that one may read page after 
page of his dictionary with improvement and pleas- 
ure. The necessary expense of preparing a work of 
such magnitude for the press must have been a con- 
[252] 



GOUGH SQUARE 

siderable deduction from the price stipulated to be 
paid for the copyright. I understand that nothing 
was allowed by the booksellers on that account; and 
I remember his telling me, that a large portion of 
it having, by mistake, been written upon both sides 
of the paper, so as to be inconvenient for the com- 
positor, it cost him twenty pounds to have it tran- 
scribed upon one side only." 

A copy of the first edition of the Dictionary^ 
1755, in two folio volumes, lies on the table; and 
it is well worth while in this room again to read its 
noble preface. In Dr. Johnson's time the attic had 
four windows, one of which has been bricked up. 
The heavy balustrade of the stairs is as it was, save 
for invisible steel supports, and one can hear, with 
the inward ear, the great man creaking up. 

In this house Johnson also wrote and edited The 
Rambler and began The Idler. Here he wrote 
The Vanity of Human Wishes and the tragedy of 
Irene. It was here too that, on March 17, 1752, his 
wife died, and in one of these rooms he wrote the 
pathetic note to his friend Dr. Taylor the next day. 

"Dear Sir, — Let me have your company and instruction. 
Do not live away from me. My distress is great. 

"Pray desire Mrs. Taylor to inform me what mourning 
I should buy for my mother and Miss Porter, and bring a 
note in writing with you. 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

"Remember me in your prayers, for vain is the help of 
man. — I am, dear Sir, &c., Sam. Johnson." 

''March 18, 1752." 

According to a note given to Boswell by Francis 
Barber, Johnson's servant, his master's affliction was 
great. As a second companion the Doctor had the 
blind Mrs. Williams. Barber's account describing 
his early widowerhood runs thus : "He was busy with 
the Dictionary. Mr. Shiels and some others of the 
gentlemen who had formerly written for him, used 
to come about him. He had then little for himself, 
but frequently sent money to Mr. Shiels when in 
distress. The friends who visited him at that time 
were chiefly Dr. Bathurst, and Mr. Diamond, an 
apothecary in Cork-street, Burlington-gardens, with 
whom he and Mrs. Williams generally dined every 
Sunday. There was a talk of his going to Iceland 
with him, which would probably have happened, 
had he lived. There was also Mr. Cave, Dr. Hawkes- 
worth, Mr. Ryland, merchant on Tower-hill, Mrs. 
Masters, the poetess, who lived with Mr. Cave, Mrs. 
Carter, and sometimes Mrs. Macaulay; also, Mrs. 
Gardiner, wife of a tallow-chandler on Snow-hill, 
not in the learned way, but a worthy good woman; 
Mr. (now Sir Joshua) Reynolds; Mr. Miller, Mr. 
Dodsley, Mr. Bouquet, Mr. Payne, of Paternoster 
Row, booksellers; Mr. Strahan, the printer; the 
Earl of Orrery, Lord Southwell, Mr. Garrick." 

[254] 



GOUGH SQUARE 

The only record of a conversation in Gough Square 
which Boswell gives was sent to him by Dr. Burney, 
whom we last saw floating in the stream in Barry's 
cartoon. It is written in the third person thus: 
"Soon after this (1758) Mr. Burney, during a visit 
to the capital, had an interview with him in Gough- 
square, where he dined and drank tea with him, and 
was introduced to the acquaintance of Mrs. Williams. 
After dinner, Mr. Johnson proposed to Mr. Burney 
to go up with him into his garret, which being 
accepted, he there found about five or six Greek 
folios, a deal writing desk, and a chair and a half. 
Johnson giving to his guest the entire seat, tottered 
himself on one with only three legs and one arm. 
Here he gave Mr. Burney Mrs. Williams's history, 
and shewed him some volumes of his Shakespeare 
already printed, to prove that he was in earnest. 
Upon Mr. Bumey's opening the first volume, at the 
Merchant of Venice, he observed to him, that he 
seemed to be more severe on Warburton than Theo- 
bald. 'O poor Tib. ! (said Johnson) he was ready 
knocked down to my hands; Warburton stands be- 
tween me and him.' 'But Sir, (said Mr. Burney,) 
you'll have Warburton upon your bones, won't you?' 
*No, Sir; he'll not come out: he'll only growl in his 
den.' 'But you think. Sir, that Warburton is a 
superior critick to Theobald *?' — 'O, Sir, he'd make 
two-and-fif ty Theobalds, cut into slices ! The worst 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

of Warburton is, that he has a rage for saying some- 
thing, when there's nothing to be said.' — Mr. Burney 
then asked him whether he had seen the letter which 
Warburton had written in answer to a pamphlet ad- 
dressed 'To the most impudent Man alive.' He an- 
swered in the negative. Mr. Burney told him it 
was supposed to be written by Mallet. The con- 
troversy now raged between the friends of Pope 
and Bolingbroke; and Warburton and Mallet were 
the leaders of the several parties. Mr. Burney asked 
him then if he had seen Warburton's book against 
Bolingbroke's Philosophy? 'No, Sir, I have never 
read Bolingbroke's impiety, and therefore am not 
interested about its confutation.' " 

After Gough Square where, it is possible, Johnson 
was not a whole householder but a lodger, the church 
of St. Clement Danes, in the Strand, must be visited, 
for one also gets very near the great man there. 

The word "Danes" in the name of this church 
means, says Stow, that Harold the Danish king and 
other Danes were buried in the original church, which 
was removed in 1680. It is only the body of the 
present building that is Wren's. The upper stages of 
the tower and the steeple were added by James Gibbs 
(1682-1754), Wren's most considerable successor. 
Gibbs built also St. Mary's-le-Strand, the neigh- 
bouring island church; but that is a poor structure. 
Gibbs's masterpiece is St, Martin's-in-the-Fields, at 

[256] 



GOUGH SQUARE 

the comer of Trafalgar Square, of which Mr. Livens 
has made a picture. To my eye St. Martin's is one 
of the finest of London churches, and it is of the 
true white stone, now exquisitely tempered by time. 
Gibbs was a Scotchman and a Roman Catholic, who 
studied architecture in Italy. His life was placid 
and uneventful, and I can find nothing very interest- 
ing to record about him. 

In St. Clement Danes Dr. Johnson worshipped, 
but how often he went there I have not ascertained, 
for the only occasions mentioned by Boswell are 
Good Fridays. Still, here are the pew where he sat; 
and the pillar he leaned against ; and after the house 
in Gough Square this is the most intimate John- 
sonian haunt still extant, for the Cheshire Cheese 
seat, so dear to Americans, is probably an imposture. 

St. Clement Danes was comely in Johnson's day; 
it is now far more comely, for a recent vicar had 
peculiar gifts for the extraction of votive windows 
from his flock. In fact only two lights remain plain ; 
the rest have very pretty — ^perhaps the prettiest in 
London — stained-glass pictures : chiefly scenes in the 
Life of Christ, from the gentle hand of Mr. T. F. 
Curtis. Look, for example, at the Good Shepherd: 
were ever such lambs for nestling playfulness? — 
almost like puppies. And the little assemblage of 
children in the first window on the north wall is 
wholly delightful. These transparent pictures, for 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

that is what they really are, make the church a very 
cheerful place, and the stars sprinkled on its ceiling 
help too. 

Dr. Johnson not only has a brass tablet marking 
his pew, but — and I venture to state very confidently 
that he can never have anticipated such a memorial 
— a window too. In the window, also by Mr. Curtis, 
we see him with five of his friends. It is, I fear, 
rather a comic group, for Mr. Curtis is not so expert 
with sapience as with innocence. The Doctor him- 
self, who is described beneath as "Philosopher, Lexi- 
cographer and Moralist," naturally dominates it, 
and about his head flit angels. In his hand is the 
Dictionary. Beside him, on his right, is that eminent 
blue-stocking, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, resting a hand 
on her own editions of Plato and Epictetus. Beside 
her is Edmund Burke, holding his eloquent Vindi- 
cation^ while on the floor beside him is a volume 
entitled Hints on the 'Drama. On the other side of 
the Doctor are Garrick, with the MS. of a tragedy, 
probably Irene., Boswell, and Dr. Goldsmith, whose 
Vicar of Wakefield is on the floor beside him. A 
dog is in the midst. 

Descending from the window to the historic pew 
one is shocked to find it so close to the pulpit — 
shocked, I mean, at the thought of the poor preacher's 
discomfort to have so uncompromising a critic im- 
mediately above his head. And if Johnson was a 

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GOUGH SQUARE 

little late, his entry must have been very impressive, 
for the pew is a long way from the entrance. The 
brass tablet in the pew corroborates all that the win- 
dow says about the Doctor, but adds "Poet" too. 

A word or two from Boswell must be quoted or 
we shall not really visualise the great man. "On 
Friday, April 2, being Good Friday, I visited him 
in the morning as usual; and finding that we in- 
sensibly fell into a train of ridicule upon the foibles 
of one of our friends, a very worthy man, I by way 
of a check, quoted some good admonition from 
'The Government of the Tongue,' that very pious 
book. It happened also remarkably enough, that 
the subject of the sermon preached to us to-day by 
Dr. Burrows, the rector of St. Clement Danes, was 
the certainty that at the last day we must give an 
account of 'the deeds done in the body ;' and amongst 
various acts of culpability he mentioned evil-speak- 
ing. As we were moving slowly along in the crowd 
from Church, Johnson jogged my elbow and said, 
'Did you attend to the sermon? — 'Yes, Sir (said I,) 
it was very applicable to us' He, however, stood 
upon the defensive. 'Why, Sir, the sense of ridicule 
is given us, and may be lawfully used. The author 
of "The Government of the Tongue" would have 
us treat all men alike.'" 

But a better record of Johnsonian post-sermon 
blandness is that recorded by Boswell on Good Fri- 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

day 1783. Says the little man, for whose hero-wor- 
shipping we can never be sufficiently grateful : "On 
April 18, (being Good-Friday,) I found him at 
breakfast, in his usual manner upon that day, drink- 
ing tea without milk, and eating a cross bun to pre- 
vent faintness; we went to St. Clement's Church, as 
formerly. When we came home from Church, he 
placed himself on one of the stone-seats at his gar- 
den-door, and I took the other, and thus in the open 
air, and in a placid frame of mind, he talked away 
very easily. Johnson. 'Were I a country gentle- 
man, I should not be very hospitable, I should not 
have crowds in my house.' Boswell. 'Sir Alex- 
ander Dick tells me, that he remembers having a 
thousand people in a year to dine at his house, that 
is, reckoning each person as one, each time that he 
dined there.' Johnson. 'That, Sir, is about three a 
day.' Boswell. 'How your statement lessens the 
idea.' Johnson. 'That, Sir, is the good of count- 
ing. It brings every thing to a certainty, which be- 
fore floated in the mind indefinitely.' Boswell. 
'But Omne ignotum pro magnifico est: one is sorry to 
have this diminished.' Johnson. 'Sir, you should 
not allow yourself to be delighted with error.' Bos- 
well. 'Three a day seem but few.' Johnson. 
'Nay, Sir, he who entertains three a day, does very 
liberally. And if there is a large family the poor 
entertain those three, for they eat what the poor 
[260] 



GOUGH SQUARE 

would get : there must be superfluous meat ; it must 
be given to the poor or thrown out.' 

"Bos WELL. 'I observe in London, that the poor 
go about and gather bones, which I understand are 
manufactured.' Johnson. 'Yes, Sir; they boil 
them, and extract a grease from them for greasing 
wheels and other purposes. Of the best pieces they 
make a mock ivory, which is used for hafts to knives, 
and various other things; the coarser pieces they burn, 
and pound, and sell the ashes.' Boswell. Tor 
what purpose, Sir*?' Johnson. 'Why, Sir, for 
making a furnace for the chemists for melting iron. 
A paste made of burnt bones will stand a stronger 
heat than any thing else. Consider, Sir ; if you are to 
melt iron, you cannot line your pot with brass, be- 
cause it is softer than iron, and would melt sooner; 
nor with iron, for though malleable iron is harder 
than cast iron, yet it would not do; but a paste of 
burnt-bones will not melt.' Boswell. *Do you 
know, Sir, I have discovered a manufacture to a 
great extent, of what you only piddle at, — scraping 
and drying the peel of oranges. At a place in New- 
gate-street, there is a prodigious quantity prepared, 
which they sell to the distillers.' Johnson. 'Sir, 
I believe they make a higher thing out of them than 
a spirit; they make what is called orange-butter, the 
oil of the orange inspissated, which they mix perhaps 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

with common pomatum, and make it fragrant. The 
oil does not fly off in the drying.' 

"BoswELL. 'I wish to have a good walled gar- 
den.' Johnson. *I don't think it would be worth 
the expence to you. We compute, in England, a 
park-wall at a thousand pounds a mile ; now a garden 
wall must cost at least as much. You intend your 
trees should grow higher than a deer will leap. 
Now let us see; — for a hundred pounds you could 
only have fourty-four square yards, which is very 
little ; for two hundred pounds, you may have eighty- 
four square yards, which is very well. But when 
will you get the value of two hundred pounds of 
walls, in fruit, in your climate*? No, Sir, such con- 
tention with Nature is not worth while. I would 
plant an orchard, and have plenty of such fruit as 
ripen well in your country. My friend, Dr. Madden, 
of Ireland, said, that, "in an orchard there should 
be enough to eat, enough to lay up, enough to be 
stolen, and enough to rot upon the ground." Cher- 
ries are an early fruit, you may have them ; and you 
may have the early apples and pears.' Bos well. 
'We cannot have nonpareils.' Johnson. *Sir, you 
can no more have nonpareils, than you can have 
grapes.' Boswell. *We have them. Sir; but they 
are very bad.' Johnson. 'Nay, Sir, never try to 
have a thing, merely to shew that you cannot'h2i\t it. 
From ground that would let for forty shillings you 
[262] 



GOUGH SQUARE 

may have a large orchard; and you see it costs you 
only forty shillings. Nay, you may graze the ground, 
when the trees are grown up; you cannot, while 
they are young.' Bos well. 'Is not a good garden 
a very common thing in England, Sir?' Johnson. 
'Not so common. Sir, as you imagine. In Lincoln- 
shire there is hardly an orchard; in Staffordshire 
very little fruit.' Boswell. *Has Langton no 
orchard*?' Johnson. *No, Sir.' Boswell. 'How 
so. Sir?' Johnson. 'Why, Sir, from the general 
negligence of the county. He has it not, because 
nobody else has it.' Boswell. 'A hot-house is a 
certain thing; I may have that.' Johnson. 'A 
hot-house is pretty certain; but you must first build 
it, tlien you must keep fires- in it, and you must 
have a gardener to take care of it.' Boswell. 'But 
if I have a gardener at any rate?' — Johnson. 
'Why, yes.' Boswell. 'I'd have it near my house; 
there is no need to have it in the orchard.' John- 
son. 'Yes, I'd have it near my house. — I would 
plant a great many currants; the fruit is good, and 
they make a pretty sweetmeat.' 

"I record," Boswell adds, "this minute detail, 
which some may think trifling, in order to shew 
clearly how this great man, whose mind could grasp 
such large and extensive subjects, as he has shewn 
in his literary labours, was yet well-informed in the 
common affairs of life, and loved to illustrate them." 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Having seen Dr. Johnson's house and church, I 
made a pilgrimage to Chiswick to see the house and 
church of a great contemporary — William Hogarth. 
There is no very easy way to reach Hogarth's house, 
but the ideal adventure would comprise the river 
Thames. One should rightly take a boat to Chis- 
wick and land at the end of the Mall. Since, how- 
ever, such things no longer are done — for the modern 
Londoner, far from using his river, rarely even looks 
at it — I may as well describe my own itinerary. 
Having gained Chiswick High Road, I turned down 
Duke's Avenue (by a Roman Catholic church). 
This, which is really an avenue of some age and 
dignity, once led to the mansion of the Duke of 
Devonshire. Turning to the left of the gates, one 
comes, in Hogarth Lane, to Hogarth's house, now 
maintained for the public by the Middlesex County- 
Council, through the munificence of Colonel Ship- 
way. All else immediately around is changed, but 
the artist's home is much as it was: a comfortable 
Georgian house, once absolutely in the country, with 
the dining-room and two upper rooms containing 
engravings of the famous pictures and a few portraits 
and other relics. The garden remains too, a very 
pleasant flowery retreat, with the historic mulberry 
tree still bearing fruit every summer. The pamphlet 
which the curator offers for sale remarks thus: "A 
little touch of pathos stays us ere we leave the 

[264] 



GOUGH SQUARE 

garden. In one corner stood against the wall a 
rough and shapeless stone inscribed: 

*Alas poor Dick! 

1760. 

Aged eleven.' 

Beneath the writing were two cross bones of birds 
and over these a death's head and a heart. The 
carving was done by Hogarth himself and placed 
there in loving memory of a favourite bullfinch 
which was buried beneath." But unhappily this 
nost interesting relic has gone. A thief came recently 
in the night and bore the stone away. 

After Johnson's house, Hogarth's is a disappoint- 
ment, for no such taste has been at work, and most of 
the rooms are occupied by the caretaker and family. 
Much might be done with it, on Mr. Harmsworth's 
lines, and perhaps much will be done. Even as it is, 
however, one can feel very near the rugged satirist, 
who loved to take his ease here after a strenuous 
period in the Leicester Square studio. One can see 
him both beneath his mulberry tree with his dog 
*Trump" and also in the charming bay window in 
the upstairs room, which faces west — meditating on 
the foibles and follies of mankind. Coming away, I 
chanced on a perfect Hogarthian scene — an elderly 
woman, probably an avenging grandmother, pursu- 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

ing, as fast as her ancient legs would permit, a deter- 
mined ruffian of some five summers, very dirty, very 
impudent and only half clad, down the squalid row 
opposite; while half a dozen equally grubby children 
rejoiced in the unequal chase. 

As I have said, immediately around Hogarth's 
house the conditions are modem; but all about the 
adjacent parish church of Chiswick there are houses 
and cottages that Hogarth knew. This is indeed a 
perfect oasis of old riverside London — Burlington 
Lane, Page's Yard, and Church Walk. In the 
churchyard, where every tombstone leans crazily, 
is the great painter's grave, with Garrick's verses 
upon it; and here too lie his wife and his mother- 
in-law. Lady Thornhill. 

Passing on to Chiswick Mall, we find some of the 
most attractive houses in London, veritable sun 
traps, with the river and Chiswick Eyot before them ; 
and it is a pleasant walk from here, and now and 
then by devious inland windings, to Hammersmith 
Mall and Bridge — not least interesting of the spa- 
cious Georgian houses which we pass being Kelmscott 
House, where William Morris spun his poetic tap- 
estries and dreamed new paradises. 



[266] 



CHAPTER XX 



HAMPTON COURT 



London's pictures — Red brick — A royal residence — A giant 
— Grinling Gibbons — Kneller's beauties — Mytens — 
Giorgione — Venetian colour — ^A great portrait — The 
Queen of Bohemia — Tintoretto — The Lely beauties — 
Old clocks — Queen Elizabeth and the goddesses — Sir 
Jeffery Hudson — Correggio — Henry VIH — The Man- 
tegna frescoes — Wolsey's rooms — The Great Hall. 

AMATEURS of art who think that London's 
riches in painting are comprised in the National 
Gallery, the Tate Gallery, the Wallace Collection, 
the South Kensington Museum (all of which are 
described in A Wanderer in London) and in the 
Guildhall, make a great mistake; for a journey of a 
few miles will bring them, either by road or rail (or, 
on a warm day, by river), to Hampton Court, where 
there is a collection of Old Masters of very high 
quality, including a few priceless works, housed un- 
der conditions of extraordinary interest and attrac- 
tiveness. 

For its pictures alone should Hampton Court be 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

visited. But it has at least three other holds on the 
imagination — its historical associations, ranging in- 
timately from Henry VIII and Cardinal Wolsey to 
Queen Anne, by way of Charles I, Cromwell, and 
William and Mary, all of whom lived here; its 
architecture, which is adorable ; and its gardens, with 
the famous vine, with the famous yews, with the 
famous herbaceous border, and a most intricate Maze 
thrown in. 

In an earlier chapter I said something in praise of 
the white stone of London. Those remarks applied 
only to London proper — the city of streets. At 
Hampton Court is one of the most satisfying build- 
ings in the world, and it is all of red brick, and one 
would not have it otherwise. 

Hampton Court was begun by Cardinal Wolsey 
and presented by him to his royal and, as it turned 
out, treacherous master Henry VIII, who added to 
it. Edward VI was born here; here Jane Seymour 
died her natural death; here Charles I lived volun- 
tarily, and was later imprisoned among the pictures 
which he collected. George II was the last resident 
monarch. It is now chiefly a show-place, but it is 
also in part a glorified almshouse, for by possessing 
certain qualifications, such as relationship to eminent 
public servants, one may be allotted shelter here for 
the rest of one's natural life — no mean privilege. 

The very names of the apartments are romantic 

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HAMPTON COURT 

enough— Queen's Guard Chamber, Queen's Presence 
Chamber, Great Watching Chamber, Henry VIII's 
Great Hall, the Haunted Gallery, Queen Anne's 
Bedroom, Cardinal Wolsey's Rooms. It is like 
Harrison Ainsworth in real life. 

The pictures, which are numerous and some ex- 
ceedingly fine, begin in the King's Guard Chamber, 
at the head of the staircase. The King in question 
was William III, and this part of the Palace was 
designed for him by Sir Christopher Wren and 
painted murally by Verrio, whose work does not 
appeal to me except on the grounds of the industry 
and discomfort that contributed to it. 

The King's Guard Chamber is notable also for the 
myriad weapons with which it is decorated. 

Here few pictures are outstanding, but the story 
of Cupid and Psyche by Giordano is told with fine 
spirit and colour, and we are helped to a reconstruc- 
tion of the ancient Palace by examining the life- 
size portrait of "Queen Elizabeth's Giant Porter," 
eight feet, six inches tall; although there is a possi- 
bility that this enormous person really lived in a 
later reign, under James I, and was not a porter 
at all. 

From the windows Queen Mary's Bower — an ave- 
nue, or rather tunnel, of wych elms — is seen. 

In the next room, William Ill's Presence Cham- 
ber, we find carvings by Grinling Gibbons, and a 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

series of the Beauties of the Court of William and 
Mary, painted by Kneller. In a later room we shall 
find their predecessors under Charles II, by Lely, 
three-quarter length and less decorous. The Kneller 
ladies are so much less interesting and charming and 
are hung so high that I think we may postpone our 
studies in feminine allurement until Lely's are 
reached. Other pictures in this room more easily 
examined include some delightful Cupids by Cara- 
vaggio, belonging to a series of panels from a cassone; 
cassone panels by Schiavone, the most romantic of 
Giorgione's followers; a dashing portrait of Peter 
Oliver, the miniature painter under James I and 
Charles I, by Vandyck's derivative, Adriaan Hanne- 
man; and a very beautiful portrait of Daniel My- 
tens, the painter, by himself. Mytens, who was born 
at The Hague, was a favourite of James I and 
Charles I, both of whom preferred foreign to English 
talent. 

Farther on we come to an interesting group — the 
great Duke of Buckingham, with his wife, son, 
daughter, brothers and sister. A so-called Luini 
(No. 61) brings a touch of tenderness into this room 
and a hint of Leonardo. The portrait group of 
Jacob de Bray's family, where his wife masquerades 
as Cleopatra dissolving a pearl, but does not convince 
us of that queen's beauty, is a fine work. 

The Second Presence Chamber, which also has 
[270] 




PRINCESS MARY AS DIANA 

AFTER THE PICTURE BY SIR PETER LELY AT HAMPTON COURT 



HAMPTON COURT 

Grinling Gibbons carvings, has many works by the 
Bassanos in it. A fine Bronzino, "A Lady in a 
Green Dress," is close to the entrance door. Leandro 
Bassano's "Portrait of a Sculptor," on the same wall, 
has charm and dignity. A nude Venus by Cariani 
(No. 88) is notable for its drawing, and "Diana and 
Nymphs surprised by Actseon" (No. 89), by Boni- 
fazio dei Pitati, for its colour. The Venetian family 
group by Pordenone, near the farther door, is rich 
and quaint. Charles I bought this picture from the 
Duke of Mantua, and for a while, after the fatal 
1649, Cromwell owned it. 

In the King's Audience Chamber is a striking little 
Titian, "Lucre tia," and next it the most lovely pic- 
ture in the whole collection, "A Shepherd with a 
Pipe," which, whether or not Giorgione painted it, is 
a joy. Enough for us, who are not experts, that it 
exists; but Mr. Berenson, who is hard to satisfy, 
gives Giorgione the credit. I reproduce the picture 
in this book. A noble Tintoretto portrait (No. 114) 
also distinguishes this room, and a superb Palma 
Vecchio (No. 116) must be looked for and rejoiced 
in. Near it is a curious portrait of Isabella d'Este 
by Lorenzo Costa, which seems out of place among 
so much that is Venetian, but is very attractive. A 
Paris Bordone, "Venus, Mars and Cupid," has a 
splendid richness; and by the fireplace is a little 
anonymous portrait (No. 130) that holds the eye by 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

reason of its simple sweetness and fine drawing. 
Cariani's "Shepherd's Offering" (No. 140) has an 
enchanting verdancy; and the "Concert" (No. 149) 
attributed to Morto da Feltre, but, like the Cariani, 
strongly influenced by the rare and exquisite art of 
Giorgione, remains in the memory as a very soothing 
and charming thing. On the same wall is one of 
the great portraits of this or any gallery — Lorenzo 
Lotto's treatment of the Venetian amateur, Andrea 
degli Odoni. 

Before we leave this room, in which one should 
spend far more time than I have perhaps suggested, 
let me remind you of one of the perfect lyrics in 
the English language : 

"You meaner Beauties of the Night, 
That poorly satisfie our eyes, 
More by your number than your light : 
You Common people of the skies, 
What are you when the Sun shall rise ? 

You curious Chanters of the wood. 
That warble forth Dame Nature's lays. 
Thinking your Voices understood 
By your weak accents ; what's your praise 
When Philomel her voice shall raise ? 

You Violets that first appear. 

By your pure purple mantles known 

Like the proud Virgins of the year, 

[272] 



HAMPTON COURT 

As if the Spring were all your own ; 
What are you when the Rose is blown? 

So when my Mistress shall be seen 
In Form and Beauty of her mind, 
By Virtue first, then Choice, a Queen, 
Tell me if she were not designed 
Th' Eclipse and Glory of her kind?" 

The author of those lovely lines was Sir Henry 
Wotton, and the subject of them was Elizabeth 
Queen of Bohemia, and the portrait over the fireplace 
is of that lady, painted by Gerard Honthorst. This 
picture, which belonged to Wotton, was left by him 
to Charles II, the Queen's nephew. 

In the King's Dra wing-Room one instantly notices 
the large Tintoretto, "The Nine Muses" — a magnif- 
icent work which dwarfs everything else. This is 
called the finest Tintoretto in England, and certainly 
his mastery and brio were never more evident; but 
personally I would not exchange it for "The Origin 
of the Milky Way" at the National Gallery. Other 
notable pictures here are the younger Palma's "Ex- 
pulsion of Heresy" (No. 163), full of Venetian dig- 
nity and richness; the great Bassano's "Adoration 
of the Shepherds" ; a fine rich Schiavone, on a larger 
scale than ordinarily (No. 179); and the superb 
"Knight of Malta" (No. 197), also by Tintoretto. 

We now come to William Ill's State Bedroom 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

(with George IPs bed in it), on the walls of which 
are the famous Beauties of Charles IPs Court by Sir 
Peter Lely. Of these frail but powerful creatures, 
but for whom Debrett would tell so different a tale, 
I think that my choice would be — no, I cannot 
choose. But I think that, as paintings go, the Count- 
ess de Grammont is the finest, although the Princess 
Mary, who is, however, in a different class, is the 
most charming. After the Countess de Grammont I 
should put the Duchess of Cleveland and the Count- 
ess of Falmouth. The Princess Mary, as Diana, of 
which I give a reproduction in this book, has inno- 
cence in it; which cannot be said of the others. 

The ceiling is also elaborately painted; but one 
needs to lie on the Royal bed to appreciate that, and 
such a manoeuvre is forbidden. 

Other things to note in the room are the carvings ; 
the ancient mirrors, in blue and plain glass, which 
have given back so many Royal reflections; two more 
of the many quaint barometers in which the Palace 
is rich; and the clock in the corner, which has been 
going for two centuries. This clock helps to illus- 
trate the extraordinary state of preservation which 
Hampton Court everywhere presents. Although so 
largely of Tudor origin, it is still all spick and span. 
That great astronomical clock, for example, in the 
large courtyard, which is so fascinating a piece of 
mechanism, dates from 1542 and was made for 

[2743 



HAMPTON COURT 

Henry VIIL The whole place is like a vast work- 
ing toy. 

In the small Dressing-Room, adjoining, are little 
pictures, of which the group of the three children of 
Christian II of Denmark, by Mabuse (No. 248), is 
one of the most charming. The allegorical portrait 
of Queen Elizabeth is interesting, and should have 
been flattering enough even for her, for it represents 
the three goddesses, Juno, Minerva and Venus, aghast 
at her beauty, splendour and power. Her royal 
father, painted probably by Joost van Cleef , is 
also here, very much as we see him when he appears 
on the stage. His great contemporary, Francis I of 
France, figures here in more than one picture, par- 
ticularly in No. 286, where his long crafty nose is 
almost too real. Among other notable works in the 
room are the symphony in green and brown by Ma- 
buse, called Eleanor of Austria, and the very fine 
Holbein, "Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene." 

Mr. Ernest Law, in his pleasant and most instruc- 
tive Guide to Hampton Court, draws attention to the 
fact that the next room, the King's Writing Closet, 
has a private staircase to the garden and that the 
mirror is arranged to give a view of all the rooms on 
the south side. The principal picture here is the 
fantastic but very attractive portrait of Lady 
Arabella Stuart, by Gheeraerts, in a lovely brocade 
gown. Here also are a portrait of Queen Elizabeth 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

with a fan, and of Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, 
with a curiously modern face, a distinguished work. 
In Queen Mary's Closet is the famous picture of 
Sir Jeffery Hudson (1619-1682) the dwarf, by 
Daniel Mytens. This very capable little person, 
who was never really knighted, was the son of a 
butcher at Oakham, in Rutlandshire, and when nine 
years of age was presented by his father to the 
Duchess of Buckingham. The boy was then only 
eighteen inches tall, but was perfectly made: a real 
Lilliputian. When entertaining Charles I and his 
queen, the Duchess popped Jeffery into a pie, as 
though he were the iive-and-twentieth blackbird, and 
the Queen was so enchanted by the little creature 
that he was passed on to her and became a Court 
favourite. He was more than this, too, for he had 
an excellent intelligence and was given a captaincy 
of horse during the Civil Wars. Accompanying the 
Queen to Paris, after the debacle, he was engaged in 
a duel. His adversary humorously and contemp- 
tuously brought a squirt to the encounter, but Jeffery 
having provided himself with a pistol shot him dead. 
Later he was captured by Turkish pirates and sold as 
a slave, and in this dire condition he began to grow, 
reaching the astonishing proportions of three feet, 
six inches. Returning at last to England, he settled 
in the country on a pension, but was arrested for 
suspected complicity in the popish plot of 1679 

[276] 



HAMPTON COURT 

and imprisoned. Soon afterwards he died. The 
Ashmolean Museum at Oxford preserves some of 
his minute clothing. A portrait of Sir Jeffery's 
first patron, the Duke of Buckingham, for whom 
his father prepared bulls for baiting, is also in 
this room. 

In the Queen's Gallery are a series of tapestries 
illustrating the history of Alexander the Great. 

In Queen Anne's State Bedchamber, where her 
bed stands, with an enormously high canopy of 
crimson and yellow Genoa velvet, the ceiling is not 
by Verrio or Laguerre, but by Hogarth's father-in- 
law. Sir James Thornhill. Here we find Italian 
painters once more — a Francia (No. 394), mild and 
saccharine as ever, but with a fine quality of lucidity; 
a well-drawn St. Sebastian (No. 423), attributed to 
Francia or a follower; Isabelle d'Este (No. 427), 
perhaps by Parmigianino; and two softly beautiful 
Correggios, "St. Catherine reading" and a "Holy 
Family," both full of quiet beauty and the painter's 
indescribable charm. I give a reproduction of the 
"Holy Family." 

From Queen Anne's Drawing-Room one should 
look from the windows, for the yew walks with their 
ancient sombre trees all branch from a point opposite 
this apartment, while the ornamental water fills the 
vista directly in front. Here are no pictures, but 
flashy mural paintings by the tiresome flamboyant 

[277] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Verrio. Dean Swift once attended a, royal levee in 
this room. 

In Queen Anne's Chamber we recede in history 
and find Tudors and early Stuarts once more. A fa- 
mous family group of Henry VIII is here : depicting 
the King; his queen of the moment, Catherine Parr, 
on his left; by her side Princess Elizabeth, afterwards 
to become Good Queen Bess; and on Henry's other 
side Prince Edward, later to be Edward VI, and 
Princess Mary, afterwards "Bloody Mary." Behind 
Mary is "Jane the Fool," and behind Elizabeth 
Will Somers, the Court jester. Here also are two 
synchronous pictures representing the Field of the 
Cloth of Gold, with Henry VIII and Francis I as 
the protagonists. 

Of late the Prince of Wales's apartments have 
been closed and their very miscellaneous pictures 
transferred to the Public Dining-Room. Few of 
these are of particular note, but among them is the 
magnificent Adam and Eve of Mabuse; an interest- 
ing group, Henry, Prince of Wales, and Robert 
Devereux, Earl of Essex, hunting; a grotesque repre- 
sentation of Hell, as the Dutch artist Hieronimus 
Bosch conceived it; a very fine Peter Breughel, a 
snow scene, called "Sacking a Village" (No. 582), 
full of rich decorative hues; and an agreeable Pieter 
de Hooch (No. 587). 

We pass now through a series of small rooms, 

[278] 



HAMPTON COURT 

with no light whatever, to the King's Gallery, where 
the priceless Raphael cartoons used to be preserved. 
But first we should look at the room itself, which 
shows Wren at his best as a designer of an apart- 
ment, and is also notable for Grinling Gibbons's 
woodwork. The cartoons being now at South Ken- 
sington, their places have been taken by the tapestries 
made from them. 

We now come, in the Communication Gallery, to 
the greatest treasure that Hampton Court possesses 
— the series of frescoes by the great Andrea Man- 
tegna, representing the Triumph of Julius Caesar. 
Damaged as these are by time and travel, for they 
were painted on linen for the Duke of Mantua as 
long ago as 1485-1492, these nine pictures (which 
really are one picture cut into nine) are still most 
beautiful and exciting. While impairing their out- 
line, age has but softened their hues into the most 
tender tones. The reds and yellows are particularly 
lovely. Not the least surprising thing about this 
wonderful Thames-side palace is that it should con- 
tain these examples of a Master who possessed in 
some ways the most interesting personality of any 
painter, and the most fascinating intellect, but for 
whose rare work at its greatest one must otherwise 
travel to Padua and his own Mantua. Yet here he 
is, serene and masterful, only a few yards from 
Tagg's Island and Hurst Park race-course ! 

[279] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

— So much for Hampton Court's pictures. 

We now enter the little suite of rooms which 
belonged to Cardinal Wolsey, the one known as his 
Closet, which had a private stairway in the corner, 
having a very fine ceiling and many of its original 
diamond panes. The fresco represents the Passion. 

Recrossing the courtyard diagonally, we come to 
the staircase leading to the Great Hall built by 
Henry VIII for state banquets, receptions, and those 
masquerades in which he delighted and in which he 
could become so dangerous. Shakespeare is known 
to have acted here — a sufficiently thrilling thought. 
The stained glass is all modern, but that says noth- 
ing against it, for some of the colours are very 
charming, notably the greens and purples ; while the 
Coburg and Garter blue, as it is called, at the end, 
is most brilliant. The Great Hall is famous also 
for its tapestries, which tell with minuteness and 
fidelity the story of Abraham, and are explained by 
a worthy and very aristocratic old gentleman, who 
has as much pride in them as though he himself were 
Bernard van Orley, their designer, or the chief of 
the Brussels weavers who made them. 



[280] 



CHAPTER XXI 



A centenary — The beginning of Lord's — The first matches 
—The Earl of Winchilsea— Lord's I, Lord's II, and 
Lord's III — Mr. William Ward— Sir Spencer Pon- 
sonby-Fane — Cricket nonagenarians — Early days — 
Praise of famous men — Nyren to "W. G." 

SINCE A Wanderer in London was written, the 
famous cricket ground in St. John's Wood has 
celebrated its centenary, for it was first played upon 
in 1814. The event was fittingly celebrated by an 
official history not only of the ground but of the 
M.C.C., or Marylebone Cricket Club, by Lord Har- 
ris, who used to captain Kent and cut balls to the 
boundary like bullets, and Mr. F. S. Ashley-Cooper, 
who knows cricket records as the late Henri Fabre 
knew insects. Mr. P. F. Warner, the Middlesex 
captain, who is said to be intimately acquainted with 
every daisy at Lord's, might have joined them; but 
he did not. 

The first match played on the present Lord's 
ground, according to Lilly white's Scores and Biogra- 

[281] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

phieSy was on June 22, 1814. The sides were th^ 
M.C.C. V, Hertfordshire (with Mr. Bentley). The 
M.C.C., for whom those early giants, Lord Frederick 
Beauclerk, Mr. Budd, Mr. (or "Squire") Osbaldes- 
ton, and Mr. William Ward, were playing, won. 
The second recorded match on the present ground 
was of a kind now unhappily extinct : single wicket. 
It was on July 4, 1814, and the sides were the four 
Hampshire men, E. Carter, Thumwood, John Ben- 
nett and T. C. Howard, against the three M.C.C. 
amateurs I have named above, with the Hon. E. 
Blyth (of Kent) added. The gentlemen won hand- 
somely — and so the ground's glorious career began. 
Its history is this. In the latter half of the 
eighteenth century, when cricket began to make its 
way, London had but one cricket club of any stand- 
ing, the White Conduit Club, called sometimes the 
Star and Garter, which numbered among its mem- 
bers many jovial spirits who were as ready for a 
practical joke as for the game, but none the less 
helped to revise the laws of cricket in 1755 and 
1774. Among the members was the eighth Earl of 
Winchilsea, a very keen hand, who retained in his 
service a capable all-round Yorkshireman, named 
Thomas Lord, to be useful in many ways, and not the 
least in bowling to gentlemen. One day in the 
seventeen-eighties the Earl of Winchilsea suggested 
to Lord that there would be plenty of support forth- 
[282] 



LORD'S 

coming if he would make a ground in a more central 
position than the White Conduit, and keep it more 
select, so that the genial amateurs of cricket might 
be sure of being able to get a knock (as we say now, 
and as was practically all that batting meant then) 
whenever they liked. 

Lord expressed himself as willing, provided he 
could be guaranteed against loss; and the Earl and 
his friend Charles Lennox, afterwards fourth Duke 
of Richmond, promising to see him through, set to 
work, and the ground was ready in May 1787, the 
club which was formed to play there and support it 
being called, after the parish in which the ground 
was situated, the Marylebone Cricket Club. Such 
was the light-hearted inception of what has grown to 
be the vast and highly organised institution which 
all men know and respect as the M.C.C. 

Lord's first ground occupied a site of which Dorset 
Square is at present a part. That was from 1787 
until 1810. Having notice to quit, he acquired 
a new ground at the top of Lisson Grove, where the 
Great Central Railway now is; but, the Regent's 
Canal being planned to run right through it, he had 
again to move, and this time he settled in St. John's 
Wood and remained there. The story which always 
used to be told was that Lord each time carried his 
turf with him; but that cannot be true if, as the 
centenary history states, the second ground was 

[283] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

being played on for two years — 1808-1810 — before 
the first was given up. It was, as I have said, in 
1814 that the present Lord's ground was ready. 

Thomas Lord remained in control of the ground 
until 1825, when, his lease being up, that enemy 
which is always threatening the prosperity of any 
open space in a big city began to draw nearer — I 
mean, of course, the builder — and very drastic steps 
were necessary. To his assistance came Mr. William 
Ward, perhaps the greatest benefactor that cricket 
ever had, and one to whom, were London's statue- 
raising zeal thorough, there would long since have 
been a monument, for he practically, as we have 
already seen, was the father of the Oval too. This 
most fortunate blend of the sportsman, the financier 
and the patriot was born in 1787 and educated at 
Winchester. He grew to be six feet one inch, 
weighed fourteen stone and played with a 4-lb. bat. 
In 1820 he made 278 in an innings ;. which long 
remained the second highest score. He bowled slow 
underhand, kept himself on too long, and fielded at 
point. He played cricket- almost to the end of his 
life, chiefly for the M.C.C. and Hampshire, and was 
one of those to take a reasonable view when round- 
arm came in. Mr. Ward being also a Director of 
the Bank of England and M.P. for the City of 
London, it was natural that when Lord saw difficul- 
ties threaten he should turn to him. 

[284] 



LORD'S 

The result was that Mr. Ward bought the lease, 
which in 1835 he transferred to James Henry Dark 
of honourable memory, who held it until 1864, when 
the Club became the owners of the ground. Dark, 
however, continued his active participation in man- 
agement for several years and is hardly less the hero 
of its history than Thomas Lord himself. 

Not the least valuable portion of the volume — 
indeed, it might well be considered the most valuable 
since it embodies the personal recollections of a great 
cricket enthusiast and patron, whose unclouded mem- 
ory could go back for four-score years — is the late 
Sir Spencer Ponsonby-Fane's introduction. Sir Spen- 
cer, who died in 1915, is another example of the 
happy longevity that can be the lot of followers of 
the greatest of games; for he lived to be ninety 
and thus comes within easy distance of his old friend 
Mr. Jenner-Fust, who lived to be ninety-nine, and 
William Beldham, who was ninety-six; while his 
friend Mr. Budd reached ninety. Sir Spencer first 
knew Lord's in the eighteen- thirties at the beginning 
of the Dark regime. He thus describes it: "In the 
then Pavilion, a small one-roomed building, sur- 
rounded with a few laurels and shrubs, and capable 
of holding forty or fifty members, I can see Mr. 
Aislabie, the Secretary of the Club, a big fat man 
over twenty stone in weight, fussing about with a 
red book in which he was entering subscriptions for 

[285]! 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

some desired match of which the funds of the Club 
could not afford the expense. And here sat Lord 
Frederick Beauclerk, then the Autocrat of the Club 
and of Cricket in general, laying down the law and 
organising the games. On these he always had a 
bet of a sovereign, and he himself managed them 
while sitting alongside the scorers at the top of the 
ground, whence he issued his orders to the players. 
He himself had then given up playing. 

"Round the ground there were more of these 
small benches without backs, and a pot-boy walked 
round with a supply of Beer and Porter for the 
public, who had no other means of refreshing them- 
selves. Excepting these benches there were no seats 
for spectators. At the south-west corner of the 
ground there were large stacks of willow-blocks to 
be seasoned and made into bats in the workshop 
adjoining. On the upper north-east corner was a 
large sheep-pen. In the centre of the ground, 
opposite the Pavilion, was a square patch of grass 
which was kept constantly rolled and taken care of. 
No scythe was allowed to touch it, and mowing 
machines were not then invented. The rest of the 
ground was ridge and furrow — not very easy for 
fielding on, nor made any easier by the number of» 
old pitches which abounded, for on non-match days 
the public could have a pitch for a shilling, a sum 
which included the use of stumps, bat and ball, the 
[286] 



LORD'S 

last-named selected from half a dozen or so from 
the capacious breeches pockets of 'Steevie' slatter, 
Mr. Dark's factotum, which never seemed to be 
empty. 

"The grass, as I have said, was never mowed. It 
was usually kept down by a flock of sheep, which 
was penned up on match days, and on Saturdays 
four or five hundred sheep were driven on to the 
ground on their way to the Monday Smithfield Mar- 
ket. It was marvellous to see how they cleared the 
herbage. From the pitch itself, selected by Mr. 
Dark, half a dozen boys picked out the rough stalks 
of the grass. The wickets were sometimes difficult — 
in a dry north-east wind, for instance ; but when they 
were in good order it was a joy to play on them, they 
were so full of life and spirit. The creases were cut 
with a knife, and, though more destructive to the 
ground, were more accurate than those marked subse- 
quently with white paint!" 

"Let us now praise famous men," is the real motto 
of any cricket history. And what a procession of 
heroes Lord's can remember ! The Earl of Winchil- 
sea, the father of the M.C.C. ; the Earl of Tanker- 
ville, who employed Nyren's Lumpy (and, as we 
have seen, Surrey's borrowed bulwark) as his gar- 
dener and Bedster as his butler; the Duke of Dorset, 
who kept Miller, Minshull, and Bowra, all worthies 
of Nyren's deathless page, in his service, handy for 

[287] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

the game; Sir Horace Mann, who retained the broth- 
ers Ring; the Rev. Lord Frederick Beauclerk, D.D., 
who seems, in spite of his passion for cricket and 
fine aptitude at it, to have done as a "backer" his 
best or worst in the impossible task of ruining its 
character; Mr. Budd, "who always wanted to win 
the game off a single ball," and "did so like to make 
the ring fall back farther and farther as he warmed 
to his play" ; Mr. Ward himself, who used the same 
bat for fifty years, and as he grew older is said, while 
standing nominally at point, to have treated the 
striker with too much respect — and who can blame 
him*? George Anderson, who, when he could not 
sleep, went downstairs for his bat and took it back 
to bed with him; Mr. Benjamin Aislabie, who com- 
posed comic rhymes on his contemporaries and was 
never refused a subscription to a match; "Squire" 
Osbaldeston, who bowled so fast that he required 
two long-stops; Will Caldecourt, who hit six 6's in 
an over; Mr. Kingscote, who drove Lilly white out 
of the ground into Hanover Crescent ; William Lilly- 
white himself, who to his Captain's reproaches for 
not catching someone off his own bowling — the 
"Nonpareil" being very chary of injuring his hand 
— replied definitely, "Look here, sir, when I've 
bowled the ball I've done with her, and I leaves her 
to my field" (pronouncing bowled to rh)^Tne with 
fouled); Mr. C. G. Taylor, a wag as well as a 

[288] 



LORD'S 

cricketer, who backed himself to learn the piano and 
sing, in six weeks, and walk down King's Parade in 
a pair of trousers of his own make, and won; Old 
Clarke, the slow bowler, who forewarned the field 
of any impending "haccident"; the great Alfred 
Mynn, the Kentish colossus, perhaps the finest figure in 
the whole history of the game, who, when there was 
a question of increasing the number of balls in the 
over said, "Myself, I should like a hundred"; Mr. 
Buchanan, who was right fast for eighteen years and 
then changed to slow left and did wonders with it; 
Mr. Cobden, who took the last three Oxford wickets 
with consecutive balls and won the university match 
by two runs; Mr. Booth, who in 1865 hit a ball over 
the Pavilion and having " 'ands like a 'ip-bath" 
made a catch which none who saw have ever for- 
gotten; and, finally, "W. G." himself, who made his 
first appearance at Lord's in 1864 when sixteen, and 
scored 50, and in 1899 was elected a life member 
of the Club. 

These are matured heroes. Then there are also 
great Public School figures, such as Lord Byron, 
cricketer and cricket epigrammatist; John Harding 
of Eton, who named his bat after Mrs. Keate; 
Charles Wordsworth, afterwards the bishop, who 
gave Henry Manning, afterwards the cardinal, a 
bat and received a poetical reply containing these 
lines: 

[289] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

"And if there's anything on earth can mend 
My wretched play, it is that piece of wood;" 



Picky Powell, an Eton hanger on, who dared to say 
to a Harrow pugilist, "All the good I see in 'Arrow 

is that you can see Eton from it" ; and Lord D , 

who could not stand the anxiety of a close finish, 
but hired a cabman to drive him two miles from 
Lord's and then back, and on learning that Eton 
had won, drove all the way down Portland Place 
and Regent Street cheering at the top of his voice. 

Such are some of the great deeds and great char- 
acters that Lord's has known. 

And, even as I write, the greatest figure in modern 
cricket has passed away — ^W. G. Grace. He leaves 
a void that can never be filled again. The game 
will recover and there will again be great cricketers; 
but there can never be another so immeasurably the 
greatest — never another not only to play cricket as 
Grace did, but to be cricket as Grace was. 

Cricket and W. G. were indeed one. Popular 
superstition and the reporters had it that he was a 
physician, and it is true that, when a wicket-keeper 
smashed his thumb or a bumping ball flew into a 
batsman's face, first aid would be administered in 
the grateful shade of the "Doctor's" beard; but it 
was impossible really to think seriously of his 
medical activities, or indeed of any of his activities 
[290] 




THE HOLY FAMILY WITH ST. JAMES 

AFTER THE PICTURE BY CORREGGIO AT HAMPTON COURT 



LORD'S 

off the field. Between September and May one 
thought of him as hibernating in a cave, returning 
to life with renewed vigour with the opening of the 
season, his beard a little more imposing, his propor- 
tions a little more gigantic; so that each year the 
bat in his hand, as he walked to the wicket with 
that curious rolling tumbling gait, seemed a more 
trifling implement. 

With the mind's vision one sees him in many 
postures. At the wicket: waiting, striking and 
running; and again bowling, in his large round ac- 
tion, coming in from the leg, with a man on the leg 
boundary a little finer than square, to catch the 
youngsters who lunged at the widish ball (his 
"bread-and-butter trick," W. G. called it). One 
sees him thus and thus, and even retiring to the 
pavilion, either triumphantly — with not, of course, 
a sufficient but an adequate score to his credit — or 
with head bent pondering how it was he let that 
happen and forewarning himself against it next 
time. But to these reminiscent eyes the most fa- 
miliar and characteristic attitude of all is W. G. 
among his men at the fall of a wicket, when they 
would cluster round to discuss the event and, no 
matter how tall they were, W. G.'s beard and shoul- 
ders would top the lot. Brave days for ever gone! 

Of late years, since his retirement, the Old Man, 
as he was best known among his fellow-amateurs, 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

was an occasional figure at Lord's. More than a 
figure, a landmark, for he grew vaster steadily, more 
massive, more monumental. What must it have 
been like to have that Atlas back and those shoul- 
ders in front of one in the theatre! At the big 
matches he would be seen on one of the lower seats 
of the pavilion with a friend on either side, watch- 
ing and commenting. But the part of oracle sat 
very lightly upon him ; he was ever a man of action 
rather than of words; shrewd and sagacious enough, 
but without rhetoric. That his mind worked with 
Ulysses-like acuteness every other captain had rea- 
son to know ; his tactics were superb. But he donned 
and doffed them with his flannels. In ordinary life 
he was content to be an ordinary man. 

Although sixty-seven, he did not exactly look old; 
he merely looked older than he had been, or than 
any such performer should be permitted to be. 
There should be a dispensation for such masters, by 
which W. G. with his bat, and John Roberts with 
his cue, and Cinquevalli with his juggling imple- 
ments, would be rendered immune from Anno Dom- 
ini. Almost to the end he kept himself fit, either 
with local matches, where latterly he gave away 
more runs in the field than he hit up, not being able 
to "get down" to the ball, or with golf or beagling. 
But the great beard grew steadily more grizzled and 
the ponderous footfall more weighty. Indeed, 
[292] 



LORD'S 

towards the last he might almost have been a work 
by Mestrovics, so colossal and cosmic were his lines. 
Peace to his ashes ! We shall never look upon his 
like again. The days of Grace are ended. 



[293] 



CHAPTER XXII 

THE ZOO 

The new spirit — The Mappin Terraces — Bears and goats — 
New friends — The enchanting Bush baby — The obscene 
echidna — Pheasants of every hue — Dandies and dowdies 
— Spring in Regent's Park — The insect house — A black 
jaguar — The little birds — "Beware of pickpockets" — 
Years of disappointment — A pickpocket at last ! 

GREAT and laudable activity has marked recent 
years at the Zoo, in every department, but to 
the returning visitor who has been absent since, say, 
1910, the outstanding innovation would be the Map- 
pin Terraces. These are a series of raised platforms, 
at the west end of the Gardens, rising to mountain- 
ous peaks on which goats perch themselves against 
the evening sky. At the foot is a pool for flamingoes, 
and between these extremities are enclosures where 
comic and grotesque bears seem to spend their whole 
lives in an erect posture. Intersecting paths give a 
view of these animals such as has not previously been 
enjoyed, while the conditions must be more pleasing 
to the inmates than heretofore. The benefactor of 
[294] 



THE ZOO 

the Gardens who, made possible this scheme, which is 
adapted from the Hagenbeck Zoo at Hamburg, was 
the late Mr. Frederick Mappin, with whose knives 
so many of us cut our food. 

No book can keep pace with the Zoo. Indeed, 
since this chapter was begun the mandril has died — 
that terrifying post-impressionist ape in a cage by 
the Inner Circle entrance. The new pair of beavers 
have also thrown all their predecessors' shyness to 
the winds and are as willing to be looked at as ac- 
tresses; my 3^oung ourang-outang friends Annie and 
Jerry no more are to be fondled beneath the ape 
house; and the sea lion enclosure has lost its King 
Penguin. 

Every time I go to the Zoo I find new creatures. 
It was not, for example, until on a quite recent visit 
that I made the acquaintance in real life of the Bush 
baby, although South African novelists had paved 
the way for the meeting. There is a Bush baby in 
a house by the Primrose Hill entrance: a tiny 
pathetic silver-grey mousey creature, with very round 
timid eyes, the colour of light dinner ale or uncut 
amber, and tiny hands with little tufts on each finger- 
tip, and folding ears, and the most surprising way 
of effortless jumping from the floor of its cage to the 
top of its tree, where it crouches and thinks sadly of 
Africa. 

I can recommend the Maholi Galago, which is its 

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full-dress name, very highly as an ingratiating and 
melancholy foreigner; but there are two obscene 
monsters in the box beneath which I hope I shall 
never see again, one of which was hauled out and 
lectured upon by the keeper before I could escape. 
A more revolting jumble of animals than the Black- 
spined Porcupine, or Echidna, of Dutch New 
Guinea, I never dreamed of. It is part bird, part 
quadruped, and wholly uncouth and uncanny. To 
find one in one's bed would mean lifelong maniacy. 
Such things are drawn in the old game of "Birds, 
beasts, and fishes" ; such things get into books by Mr. 
Wells and Sir A. Conan Doyle. To find one alive, 
or at any rate moving, at the Zoo, is a shock. What 
the keeper said I cannot recall, for I was receding all 
the time, but one reiterated fact has stuck in my 
mind : "With the temperature of a reptile," he said 
again and again. Well, let those that want to take 
such temperatures, take them. For me,, the adjacent 
pheasantry. 

I had never thought intently about pheasants be- 
fore. I knew them as huge birds which provoke 
heart seizures in spring by suddenly rising from one's 
very feet with a terrible explosion. I knew them, or 
rather I had heard of them, as feeding so glutton- 
ously on mangolds as to ruin farmers. I knew them 
as being practically tame and confiding domestic 
poultry until September 30, on the next day turning 

[296] 



THE ZOO 

into wild fowl which any gunner is proud to hit. I 
knew them as providing excellent autumnal food 
(boiled, with chestnuts, for choice) so long as one 
does not bite on a pellet. I knew them also as being 
of a handsome burnished brown hue with tails like 
comets. What I did not know was that most other 
countries have pheasants too, and that the bird, 
though true to type in the main, differs amazingly 
with each country, and that China easily wins in this 
department, the Chinese pheasants being more glor- 
ious and brilliant than any other. There is indeed 
one Celestial fowl which, were it let loose in the City, 
would lure the whole population into pursuit, so 
auriferous is it; the Gold pheasant, in short; and, 
strangely enough, this bird, who woos with very odd 
manoeuvres, has the dowdiest wives of all. No 
pheasant allows his ladies to dress more than de- 
cently; that is understood. But the Gold pheasant 
of China keeps their dress allowance down to prac- 
tically nothing at all. The best-dressed wives are 
those of the Siamese Fireback, who show to advan- 
tage, as the fashion papers say, in a stylishly-cut 
tailor-made costume. I do not say that the Gold 
pheasant is the king of the pheasantry, but he is the 
most gorgeous. My own taste is simpler. I like best 
the Peacock pheasant of British Burmah, with its 
purple spots on a soft grey background. Among 
others are Reeves' pheasant, post-impressionist in 

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design, in yellows and black; and the rich horned 
Tragopan; and the Himalayan Monaul, whose many 
hues change with every movement; and the Java 
jungle fowl, through whose blue and crimson comb 
the light burns; and the Prince of Wales pheasant 
of North Afghanistan, which is the sublimation of 
our own English variety. But all are wonderful, 
each in a different way, and in the spring, when the 
thought of eggs is predominant, they are at their best 
— at least, the happy gentlemen are. Let all who 
visit the Zoo in the spring therefore — and spring 
comes up as gaily and graciously in Regent Park as 
anywhere in the world — remember the pheasantry. 
Better than most picture galleries is this terrace of 
aviaries. 

Another part of the Gardens, nev/ since I wrote A 
Wanderer in London^ is the Insect House, where the 
birth of butterflies and moths may be witnessed while 
you wait. A huge privet hawk moth was painfully 
crawling out of its chrysalis just as I reached the 
railings, and a vast mass of quivering larvae which a 
day or so before I had watched in fascinated disgust 
had now become millions of blue-bottle flies. But 
the most curious things were the bird-eating spiders 
of Trinidad. To me they were wholly unfamiliar; 
but a small boy of about ten was fluently ticking off 
their accomplishments to his sisters and nurse. To 
babes and sucklings how many things are revealed! 

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THE ZOO 

What else did I see on my last visit (and I go very 
frequently) that particularly delighted me? Well, 
I saw a Savannah deer from Iquique, with the sweet- 
est, gentlest countenance. I saw a black jaguar (but 
perhaps all jaguars are black), through whose glossy 
coat the ghosts of spots were now and then visible; 
and nothing more forlorn or tragic than the expres- 
sion in its yellow eyes did I ever watch. Truly ter- 
rible this — to know that there is nothing in store for 
it for ever but to possess the soul which of course it 
does not possess (those trifles being reserved for the 
crowds on the other side of its bars) in patience and 
courage in this solitary confinement. Until the end ! 
And in the melancholy of this superb creature I read 
the whole indictment of Zoological Gardens all the 
world over. The otter in his pool, the monkeys in 
their sociable cages, the sea lions in their rocky haunt, 
the busy humorous elephants bearing their constant 
human loads, the bears in the Mappin terraces, with 
visits from punctual friends, the parrots in their 
large aviary and the small birds in their little one — 
these are not necessarily to be much pitied. But that 
jaguar in his narrow cell and, not so far away, those 
eagles accustomed to soar out of sight but now cooped 
and cabined — they excite only compassion and the 
question. Is it worth while keeping them as a show*? 

I mentioned the small birds just now, and that 
reminds me that on visiting their abode my eyes were 

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amazed by the Toucans and fascinated by the Yel- 
low-winged Sugar Birds. Of the Toucan, with its 
incredible beak and lavish colouring, one might say, 
as the American rustic said on his first sight of the 
giraffe in the travelling menagerie, "Hell! I don't 
believe it!" but the little Sugar Birds are like the 
gayest of thoughts, and might have been Maeter- 
linck's exemplars. Such dark blue and such light 
blue never were elsewhere in this wonderful world, 
into which the Regent's Park Gardens offer such 
fascinating and bewildering glimpses. 

And then, just before coming away I had the 
greatest triumph of all my career as a F.Z.S. I saw 
a pickpocket. You know how at every turn in the 
Gardens a notice warns you to beware of these dan- 
gerous fauna? But never had I been robbed or wit- 
nessed any hue and cry. The words "Beware of 
Pickpockets" I had indeed come to look upon as the 
"Wolf! Wolf!" of the fable. Even in the lions' 
house at feeding time when, tradition has it, the 
pupils of Fagin are at their very best, I had never 
detected a practitioner. Yet now, at last, I had the 
satisfaction of watching one actually at work there — 
as flagrantly as that historic but unnamed performer 
who abstracted a snuffbox from a courtier under the 
eyes of Charles II, and by his roguish shamelessness 
made the Merry Monarch an accomplice. 

The day was so hot that for a while I did a thing 

[300] 



THE ZOO 

I have never done before: I sat on a chair in the 
path up and down which the elephants slowly parade 
as they bear their loads of excited children and self- 
conscious adults; and it was there that I found the 
pickpocket, or, if you like, it was there that he found 
me. For I was one of his victims. 

I had always thought of pickpockets as little chaps 
capable of slipping away even between men's legs in 
a crowd; but this fellow was big. I had thought, 
too, of pickpockets as carrying on their nefarious pro- 
fession with a certain secrecy and furtiveness; but 
the Zoo pickpocket, possibly from sheer cynicism, or 
from sheer advantage of size, making most of the 
officials look insignificant and weakly, was at few 
or no pains to cover his depredations. Nor did he, 
as I supposed was the custom of his kind, devote him- 
self to watches, pocket-books and handkerchiefs, but 
took whatever he could, and if a bag chanced to have 
something in it and he could not extract the contents 
quickly enough, he took the bag as well. He was 
indeed brazen ; but scatheless too. 

My own loss was trifling — merely a newspaper, 
which I would have given him had he asked for it. 
But before I knew anything it was snatched from 
my hands by this voracious thief. To say that I was 
astonished would be to state the case with absurd 
mildness; I was electrified. But when I looked 
round for the help which any man is entitled to ex- 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

pect, judge of my horror when I found that not only- 
all the spectators who had witnessed the outrage, 
but also the only keepers within sight, were laughing. 
And I can swear that the pickpocket was laughing 
too, for there was an odd light in his wicked little 
yellow eye as he opened his mouth, lifted his trunk 
with my poor journal firmly held in it, and deposited 
the paper in that pink cavern his mouth. For my 
first Zoo pickpocket was the biggest of the elephants, 
who is both old enough and large enough to know 
better. 



I302] 



CHAPTER XXIII 

A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

The true Londoner — S. F. and his water colours — The print 
shops — J. O. L. and his drawings — The passionate Lon- 
doner — A. C. P. and his variousness — An editor of Lon- 
don — A. E. B. the talker — A few bookmen — Bertram 
Dobell the bookseller and more — Samuel Drewett. 

LONDONERS are both bora and made. I know 
examples of both varieties and I find that those 
that are made are the most appreciative and those 
that are born the most thorough. 

The true Londoner, born or made, has a devotion 
to centrality; a feeling that everything that is not 
London is not London. "All time," said the atheist 
Julius Vanini, who, in spite of his recantation, was 
burned at the stake, "is lost that is not spent in 
love." The Londoner feels that too, as Sydney 
Smith states, in the motto on my title-page, — with 
the substitution (a distinction with very little differ- 
ence) of London for love; and he may feel it in any 
spot in the world to which iron circumstance or a 
treacherous caprice of his own has carried him. That 

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is what I mean by Londoner, and the exiles are 
often, like Stanley Ortheris, more eloquent in praise 
of the city of their desire than ever they will be 
when in her midst again. Absence can but make 
their hearts grow fonder, as not always it does in 
other and grosser love, in spite of the proverbialist. 

In the pages that follow I attempt outline por- 
traits of Londoners whom I have known, all save 
two under disguised initials. Those two being no 
longer living I give them their names — Bertram Do- 
bell the bookseller and Samuel Drewett who, before 
settling in Paris, where he died, sold prints in 
Northumberland Avenue. The others are either in 
London at this moment or will soon, I hope — S. F., 
for example, is now a soldier — be here again. 

If a certain family similarity is perceptible in 
them all, in that each has something of the collector 
spirit, it is because I am myself that way disposed, 
and like attracts like. But it is of the essence of 
the true Londoner, whether he consciously amasses 
or not, to be noticing; and the collector who does 
not notice will have barren cabinets. 

Looking at S. F. so fresh and ruddy, almost bu- 
colic of visage, with a little pucker of perplexity 
ever in his brow, you would say this man must have 
wandered into the city by chance; for how can he 
be a Londoner? He is perhaps an enthusiastic gar- 
dener with a nice hand for the seccateur (you would 
[304] 



A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

say), or, not surprising if he breeds spaniels. But 
really you would be wrong, for S. F. has but one 
passion and that is old water-colour drawings, and 
only in London can such a passion be gratified. Not 
that it can ever be gratified at all, of course, for the 
passion of the collector learned its only cry from the 
daughters of the horse leech; yet each fresh morsel 
confers its own delight, even though it increases the 
void. What S. F. ought to have been doing before 
he took to khaki I could never ascertain: where the 
desk that should claim most of his wakeful hours; 
where the clerks and typists whose efforts bring him 
his pelf; but no one knows better than I in what 
agreeable way he neglects his duty and misapplies 
his time and disperses his riches; for I have helped 
him in the sweet pursuit. 

Not a picture-dealer great or small, not a sale- 
room, is unacquainted with his mien. He is inde- 
fatigable. He will turn over twenty portfolios of 
engravings and prints in the hope of one drawing; 
for engravings interest him not, except as having 
been preceded by paint. Thus, he buys Keepsakes 
and Gems and Landscape Annuals wherever he sees 
them, always trusting some day to come upon the 
original of the steel plates. He is utterly ignorant 
of the R.A.s and A.R.A.s of the moment, but it 
would puzzle you to put a question about Turner 
and Girtin, the Cozens', David Cox or the Varleys 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

Paul Sandby or Samuel Prout, Bonington or Dayes, 
that he could not answer. These are, however, the 
greater names. Ask him also of the lesser known: 
Hugh O'Neil or John Collett, William Payne (who 
discovered Payne's Grey), or John Glover (who 
tamed birds while he sketched), and he will tell you 
of them, and, what is more, show you examples of 
their work and explain why it is not any better than 
it ought to be. He is true to water as a Rechabite. 
Oil touches him not. You may lead him in vain 
through the National Gallery: he will be breaking 
for the basement all the time to glance once again 
at the Turner sketches; while it is at South Ken- 
sington that he is most truly at home, studying 
Francia (from whom the glorious Bonington had his 
early lessons), wondering why William Callow was 
never properly recognized, and deploring the fading 
of the Peter de Wints. 

For the water-colour enthusiast, London has not 
too many hunting-grounds; but it is necessary very 
frequently to visit such as there are if one is to be 
blessed. And the bookseller must not be forgotten, 
for at any moment an extra-illustrated volume may 
come in — a topographical work as a rule — and this 
may yield great treasure. For such quarry there is 
a shop in the Brompton Row, between Sloane Street 
and Harrods' that is important. This fascinating 

[306] 



A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

establishment, may almost be said to be an annexe 
of S. F.'s suburban mansion. 

Odd how different men can be : J. O. L., who is 
the keenest Londoner in existence — to whom London 
is a passion — also collects pictorial art, but for him 
colour has no attraction whatever. Pen and pencil 
drawings, etchings and engravings, are his joy: but 
always and only of landscape — this green England 
of ours, in its austere moods for the most part, and 
in the fewest possible lines; although — for we are 
all, thank God, inconsistent — his eyes can wonder- 
fully soften and indeed almost dim before Girtin's 
"White House at Chelsea," that perfect first dis- 
covery, before Whistler or even Turner, of the 
beauty and magic of the London Thames. But 
there are wider differences than this between S. F. 
and J. O. L., not the least being that S. F. is a man 
of leisure, and would be a man of leisure no matter 
how much he had to do or how little to live upon; 
whereas J. O. L. has never had any leisure in his life, 
and never will have. He is one who carries his 
work with him ; his head is full of it, and he is always 
in a rush. Even had Heaven showered upon him 
riches, I doubt if he would have contrived to evade 
as many honorary obligations as those which now 
overpower him of necessity. None the less, in his 
rapid synthetic way, he manages to know as much 
of the life of London of the present day as most of 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

us, even to its comic singers, while of the London of 
the past he knows almost more than any. 

For London is his theme, almost his life. His 
shelves, even floors, groan beneath the weight of 
London literature, London journalism, London port- 
folios. His walls are covered with London prints, 
among which those other notes of landscape in firm 
and vivid line shine like flowers. Perhaps, to have 
such a passion, such white heat of admiration, it is 
necessary to be a provincial, and come to the allur- 
ing Mecca with all one's adolescent homage and 
young enthusiasmiS fresh and thrilling. So did he, at 
any rate, some thirty and more years ago, and fell a 
slave and is a slave still — with the added power of 
recommending the bonds to others. 

A. C. P. is also a London collector, but he may be 
called a collector of life. He is not much less in- 
terested in water-colours than S. F., but he adds oils 
to them; nor much less fascinated by the ancient city 
than J. O. L. ; but to these tastes he adds an actuality 
that they lack. With sympathies for everything old 
he is yet intensely of the present. He has been 
called the busiest man in London, but he also man- 
ages to see more of it than most idle Londoners. He 
is an excellent example of the Londoner with eyes. 
As he walks he notes, and the consequence is that he 
is a fund of inspiration to those who do not observe 
and want to be told things. He knows most of the 

[308] 



A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

obvious things and some of the recondite things, but 
has all a Londoner's strange lacunae. Some one once 
said to him, "There is only one thing more remark- 
able than the things you do know and that is the 
things you don't know" ; but none the less he is rarely 
stumped utterly. He treasures not only the sights 
of London, but its phrases. He can tell you not only 
what is the latest slang but when it came in, and 
often who brought it. He rejoices in a good idiom, 
and quite recently stopped me to enjoy with him a 
description he had overheard of a little London ser- 
vant girl who, one tristful Wednesday night, was 
said to be "looking both ways for Sunday" — surely 
a very happy hitting off of the mid-week feeling. On 
another occasion, as we stood together sipping re- 
freshment, I asked him why a "John Collins" was 
so called — a question I had put in vain to many 
friends — and in an instant he told me of the old 
London waiter, and quoted the lines : 

"My name is John Collins, head waiter at Limmer*s, 
Corner of Conduit Street, Hanover Square; 
My chief occupation is filling of brimmers 
To solace young gentlemen laden with care." 

Not many Americans, to whom a "John Collins" 
is more of a reality than with us, know that. But 
if any American in London wants his national bev- 
erages, A. C. P. is the man that he should ask; for 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

he knows the bars of London hardly less intimately 
than her picture-galleries and houses of entertain- 
ment; and while he can tell you not onl)^ where you 
may see a Claude Monet, and what time to reach 
Covent Garden to enjoy the most exquisite moment 
of the Russian ballet, he can tell you also where 
the best dry Martini is mixed. 

Had London an editor, such as I think would be 
greatly to her advantage, A. C. P. could fill the 
void. For one thing, he would set up direction posts 
at such spots as Piccadilly Circus and Charing Cross, 
indicating the bus routes and corresponding numbers, 
for the convenience of the wayfarer. Persons who 
have been in Munich will remember the clarity with 
which such information is imparted. Too much 
order may impair a city's quality, but London has 
no order at all except such as one can extract from 
the nearest policeman. And apropos of policemen, I 
may say that A. C. P. knows several of them per- 
sonally, and more than one officer of the Criminal 
Investigation Department. His foible indeed, wher- 
ever he goes, is preferential treatment. 

Perhaps as good a definition of the complete Lon- 
doner as could be given is to say of him that he knows 
omnibuses by their numbers. I am sure that A. C. 
P. does not, but he can tell most cabmen a quicker 
way than they themselves would choose, and he 
knows also the best second-hand book shops for most 
[310] 



A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

varieties of literature. It was he who first drew my 
attention to the pretty relief of St. Martin giving 
his cloak to the beggar, that is on all the lamp-posts 
in the parish of St. Martin's-in-the-Fields. 

A. C. P., however, although he will answer ques- 
tions and interject comments, does not talk. My 
London talker is A. E. B. A. E. B. carries on the 
Johnson tradition: he sits in taverns and discourses 
on everything that crops up. He has no sense of 
time and no power of repletion: hence he sits on 
and on, and empties whatever is placed before him, 
and embroiders all subjects under the sun, until 
some one mentions the hour, when he remembers a 
variety of engagements, all of which are broken, 
and thinks it best perhaps to return home. Only 
with the assistance of cabs can he keep any appoint- 
ment, and knowing this, and having at bottom a 
genuine if pathetic desire to be businesslike, he clings 
to a cabman as a drowning man to a spar, and cannot 
bear to let him go. Cabmen, therefore, who have the 
good fortune to catch his eye, live in affluence by 
sheer waiting for him at so much an hour outside 
houses. 

He comes fully armed to every topic: either he 
has really meditated upon it, or such is his marvel- 
lous power of improvisation — and I incline to this 
theory — that he can frame his inventions of the in- 
stant as though they were the result of sleepless 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

nights. His peculiar gift is to generalize from the 
particular. Being for the most part so engrossed in 
his own fancies, he sees little as he passes through 
the streets with moving lips as in a dream. Hence, 
when he does see a thing, it becomes a portent and 
fills his imagination. A. C. P., who sees everything, 
listening to him would be smiling in his beard all 
the while; but others he can take in, and does, to 
their immense satisfaction, for he has every rhetori- 
cal charm. 

When it comes to London bookworms, memory 
reels, for I know so many. There is B. P., who, 
with no time for the search, quietly and stealthily 
conveys to his home every evening a new treasure, 
found none knows where; and, with no intellectual 
shop-window at all, sitting silent a whole evening 
unless challenged, has ever, hidden away on a men- 
tal shelf, some curious fact on every topic started, 
and, on actual shelves, copies of most of the rare 
books (and many unique ones, with autographs and 
marginalia of the great dead in them) of which men, 
on such occasions, talk. There is P. R., a pillar of 
learning and industry, who writes more reviews and 
reads more publishers' manuscripts than any ordi- 
nary five men, and yet has time to search Charing 
Cross Road systematically from end to end every 
week, see every new play, entertain and be enter- 
tained, and maintain a correspondence with his 
[312] 



A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

friends so copious as to compare favourably with the 
letters of the good days before railways and a fever- 
ish daily press had arrived to impair the art. 

But my special bookworm shall be one who not 
only bought books and read them and sold them, 
but even went on to write them as well — ^yes, and 
poetry too — the late Bertram Dobell of the Charing 
Cross Road. Bertram Dobell was the true stamp. 
No "remainders" in his shop, and no visible order. 
Dust everywhere; books everywhere: on the floor 
in heaps, in the cellar in heaps, and yet some mys- 
terious secret law must have obtained there, for if 
you wanted a book, and he had it, it would emerge. 
B. D. himself, however, was not much to be seen 
in latter days: he left the riiarket to assistants, and 
largely to his sons, who still carry on the business 
with distinction, and sat in a little room at the back, 
so full of books that the mere process of entering it 
and leaving it must have been a daily problem to 
one of his bulk; and there he pored over new dis- 
coveries or talked good book talk with such of his 
visitors as were thin enough or determined enough 
to reach and occupy the other chair. Once you were 
there he pushed an opening or two in the rampart 
of volumes before him, and through these chinks you 
conversed like Pyramus and Thisbe. 

Such glimpses of Bertram Dobell as you could 
thus catch showed him to be in the seventies, with a 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

large fine thinking head, fringed with longish grey 
hair, and a pointed grey beard. His face was fur- 
rowed, and his eyes suggested that reading and 
thought had always been put before sleep. Rem- 
brandt should have painted him in this dark cell. 
Not that Bertram Dobell had ever been eremitical. 
Among his poems are stanzas of a genial and ruddy 
cast not only on ladies that he had loved but on 
dancing girls that he had seen (giving those tired 
eyes an unaccustomed balm), while among his bio- 
graphical prefaces — for he knew and edited poets of 
revolt — are sympathetic passages indicating that he 
too had felt the heat of the fray. 

It was a charming characteristic of Bertram Dobell 
that he had always something new to show you — 
usually an Elizabethan or Jacobean MS., but as 
often as not a well-known book annotated by a not 
less well-known reader — even Coleridge himself. 
Discoveries — to you and me so epoch-making — were 
the warp and woof of his life. By an indefinable 
law, the rarities gravitated to his already over-con- 
gested treasure-house. Once he hunted them: lat- 
terly they hunted him. As the years before him di- 
minished, the tasks set by his editorial ambition in- 
creased, and he grudged every minute spent away 
from his desk. The bookseller gradually and stead- 
ily transmuted to author. To us, to-day, this is 
nothing; but how the wits at Will's Coffee House 

I3H] 



A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

would have played with the idea, in those days when 
most of the jokes were at booksellers' expense! 

London has many second-hand booksellers, but 
none like Bertram Dobell. He alone was author 
and poet too. He alone had read everything he 
sold and knew some of it better than the pundits.' 
To his enthusiasm (for I doubt if he ever made a 
penny by his books) we owe additions to our knowl- 
edge of Shelley and Lamb; but, most of all, to his 
critical insight is the world indebted for the poems 
and meditations of that rapt ecstatic soul Thomas 
Traherne. 

Samuel Drewett, like J. O. L., was a Londoner 
made; he came hither not from Northumberland, like 
J. O. L., but from Bedfordshire, and he brought with 
him just that little bundle of impulsive idealism and 
generosity which he carried all his life and which 
the ills and misfortunes, and, most of all, the disap- 
pointments and frustrations that beset his path, 
could do little to diminish. This he brought to Lon- 
don, and this he took from it when he moved to a 
sister capital abroad: no more; for he was of that 
small and select band, surely very precious to the 
angels, whose efforts go towards helping others, 
rather than themselves, to affluence and success. 

London is not over kind. London likes to see this 
man miss his train and that slip on orange peel; this 
weak-witted woman mocked by boys, and that dandy 

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MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

receive a mud spot full on his collar. But S. D. was 
essentially sympathetic and pitiful. He loathed all 
such calamities, and had he his way no train should 
start until every sign of a hurrying passenger was 
absent, and omnibuses should carry real mud-guards, 
and all pavements should be cleared by authority of 
peel; while in his presence boys mocked a woman 
at their peril. For with him to feel was to act. I 
almost wrote, to think was to act; but I doubt if he 
thought at all, in the ordinary sense of the word. 
He arrived at conclusions by a mixed process of in- 
dignation, or joy, and instinct. I remember being 
with him one windy day on London Bridge when 
we came upon a little knot of people surrounding a 
flower-girl whose hat had blown into the river. She 
stood in the midst, the picture of woe and despair, 
while the crowd either gaped in amusement or ex- 
pressed empty regrets, most of them remarking on the 
impossibility of ever getting it back again: "Not 
from the Thames, you won't; not on a day like this;" 
and so forth, with endless iteration. S. D.'s method 
was different. His own hat was off in a moment and 
a shilling (he had too few of them all his short life) 
in it. "Now, then, gentlemen, let's get the poor girl 
another hat," and such was his magnetic, persuasive 
way that he had coaxed a sum of six shillings from 
those reluctant pockets in half as many minutes, and 

[316] 




A SHEPHERD WITH A PIPE 

AFTER THE PICTURE ATTRIBUTED TO GIOSGIOME AT^HAMPTON COURT 



A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

the girl went on her way with her tears changed to 
smiles. 

He was perhaps a really typical Londoner only in 
one respect — he could tell you instantly all the 
errors that wanted adjustment. His eye for incapaci- 
ties was that of an eagle ; and he usually pointed out 
the defect to the right person. No man can have 
sent for the manager so often ; but where he differed 
from all other men who have that amusing and bar- 
ren habit, was in the circumstance that no matter in 
what a tornado of blame the interview began, the 
censor and the censured were always as David and 
Jonathan at the end of it. But his principal and 
most devoted adherents were employees in lower 
grades — waiters and commissionaires, messenger boys 
and policemen, railway guards and bus conductors. 
These adored him. Not for any money that he could 
give them, for he had no margin for tips, but for 
that rarer and more flattering and memorable form of 
tip, a good understanding, a basis of intercourse. A 
joke he had for all and something special for all too 
— pointing out a paragraph he had been reading in 
the paper; recounting a personal experience in the 
hearer's walk of life; making an accusation of des- 
perate licentiousness (always unction to these good 
fellows) ; offering a cigarette from his own case. But 
never money. He had an instinct that money was 
only for those whose attachment he did not want and 

[317] 



MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON 

was not worth having. Even had he been rich I 
doubt if he would have given money to those whom 
he really liked — so fastidious and sensitive was he. 

His special line was pictures, of which he knew a 
great deal ; and together we saw many. As he grew 
older and misfortune drew closer, he had to abandon 
his connexion with art and take to literature. He 
took a little to cynicism too, and although the radi- 
ance of his generosity nothing could dim, his words 
became tinged with bitterness. "My boy," he said 
to me one day, not long before he moved abroad 
for ever, — "my boy, remember these lines: 

*It's a very good world to live in, 
To lend or to spend or to give in, 
But to beg or to borrow or get a man*s own 
It's the very worst world that ever was known.* 

Get these lines into your head and then you'll never 
be surprised or shocked when you are left high and 
dry." 

Well, he is dead now, and more and more I find 
myself thinking of him and desiring his company, 
which was the best in the world. My first of every- 
thing that was most valuable I seem to have had 
from him: he gave me my first water-colour paint- 
ings, a little sea-scape by a painter named Heery, and 
a romantic sketch by John Varley; he gave me my 

[318] 



A GROUP OF LONDONERS 

first engraving, a benefit ticket by Cipriani and Bar- 
tolozzi; he gave me my first grown-up book, The 
Autocrat of the Breakfast Table; and all when I was 
not yet in the teens, or only just there, when gifts 
need imagination and count. . . . Above all, he first 
showed me London. 



[319] 



INDEX 



INDEX 



Adam Brothers, the, 202, 248. 
Addison, Joseph, 106. 
Adelphi, the, 202-217. 
Aislabie, Benjamin, 285, 288. 
Albert, Prince, 51, 142, 160; 

Memorial, the, 101-2. 
Alexandra, Queen, 193. 
Anderson, George, 288. 
Anne, Queen, 84, 140, 277-8. 
Arches, Court of, 2. 
Arts, Society of, 202-211, 214, 

218-228. 
Ashley-Cooper, F. S., 281. 
Astley, Philip, 175-84. 
Atheists, Johnson on, 215. 
Audley, Hugh, 79. 
Auto-icons, 223. 



Baillie, Joanna, 218. 

Balfe, M. W., 243. 

Banks, Sir Joseph, 243. 

Barry, Sir Charles, 143 ; E. M., 

144; James, 202-11, 218. 
Bassano, L., 273. 
Bazalgette, Sir Joseph, 145. 
Beaconsfield, Lord, 140, 234. 
Beauclerk, Lord Frederick, 282, 

6, 8. 



Bedford, fifth Duke of, 187. 

Bell, Anning, 64. 

Bentham, Jeremy, 186, 221-224. 

Bentinck, Lord George, 192. 

Besant, Sir Walter, 146. 

Bessborough, Lord, 155. 

Bevington, Col. S. B., 195. 

Birch, Samuel, 52. 

Birkbeck, George, 178. 

Blair's Sermons, Johnson on, 
215. 

Blake, William, 241. 

BTondin, J. F. G., 179. 

Boadicea, 142. 

Boer War, the, 30, 94. 

Bohemia, Queen of, 273. 

Booth, Mr., 289. 

Bordone, Paris, 271. 

Borrow, George, 243. 

Bosch, Hieronimus, 278. 

Boswell, James, and his happy 
day, 212-217; and Good Fri- 
day, 259-263. 

Bow, great Bell of, 3. 

Boydell, John, 42. 

Brandon, Richard, 107. 

Breughel, Peter, 278. 

Bright, John, 130. 

Bronzino, 271. 

Browning, E. B., 219; Robert, 
219. 

Brunei, L K., 146. 



[323] 



INDEX 



Buchanan, Mr., 289. 
Buckingham, Duchess of, 276; 

Duke of, 270, 277. 
Budd, Mr., 282, 285, 288. 
Burgoyne, Sir J. F., 129. 
Burke, Edmund, 187, 209, 219. 
Burne-Jones, Sir E., 243. 
Burney, Dr., 204, 214, 255; E. 

B., 45-47; Fanny, 220, 227. 
Burns, Robert, 146. 
Burton, William S., 31-34. 
Byrne, Charles, 136. 
Byron, Lord, 96, 191, 220, 289. 



Calais, Burghers of, 143. 
Caldecourt, Will, 288. 
Cambridge, the Duke of, 139. 
Camden, Lord, 41. 
Canning, George, 140, 220. 
Caravaggio, 270. 
Cariani, 271. 

Carlyle, Thomas, 193, 240. 
Cartwright, Major, 190. 
Chamberlain, Joseph, 248. 
Chapman, George, 60. 
Charles I, his execution, 58, 90, 

167-168, 268, 270, 271, 276. 
Charles II, 14, 20, 35, 107, 270, 

273-274. 
Chaucer, 96. 
Chiswick, 264-266. 
Christ's Hospital, 86. 
Churches — Bow Church, 1-4; 

Martyrs' Church, the, 85; St. 

Andrew's Chapel, 63 ; St. 

Andrew's, Holborn, 23 ; St. 

Bride's, 522; St. Clement 



Danes, 256, 257; St. Dun- 
stan's-in-the-East, 24, 27; 
St. Dunstan's-in-the-West, 5; 
St Etheldreda's, 62; St. 
George's, Bloomsbury, 188; 
St. Giles's, Cripplegate, 58 ; 
St. Giles-in-the-Fields, 58-61; 
St. Helen's, Bishopsgate, 166; 
St. James's, Piccadilly, 22, 
58 ; St. Lawrence, Jewry, 54- 
56 ; St. Magnus the Martyr, 
5, 24, 56-57; St. Martin's-in- 
the-Fields, 6, 256; St. Mar- 
tin's, Ludgate Hill, 22; St. 
Mary Abchurch, 23 ; St. 
Mary's, Paddington, 190; St. 
Mary Somerset, 23 ; St. Mary 
Le Bone, 191 ; St. Mary-le- 
Bow, 1-4; St. Mary's-le- 
Strand, 256; St. Michael's, 
Cornhill, 24; St. Michael 
Royal, 23; St. Pancras, 189; 
St. Stephen's, Walbrook, 21 ; 
St. Vedast, 23; The West- 
minster Cathedral, 33-35. 

Circus, the, 174-184. 

Clarke, Old, 289. 

Clayton, Sir Robert, 193. 

Cleef, Joost van, 275. 

Cleopatra's Needle, 147. 

Cleveland, Duchess of, 274. 

Clive, Lord, 139. 

Clyde, Lord, 128. 

Cobden, Richard, 239. 

Cockney, the word, 3. 

Coleridge, S. T., 239. 

Collins, William, 30. 

Compton, Lord, 167. 

Constable, John, 239. 



[324] 



INDEX 



Cook, Captain, 95,' 240. 
Cope, Sir Walter, 106. 
Coram, Captain, 187. 
Corporation Picture Gallery, 

28-50. 
Correggio, 277. 
County Council, London, 229- 

249. 
Coutts the banker, 211. 
Cozens, J. R., 212. 
Cricket in London, 149-162, 

245-255, 281-293. 
Crimea Memorial, 129. 
Criminal detectives, 72-77. 
Cromwell, 141, 167, 271. 
Cruikshank, George, 178, 220. 
Curtis, T. F., 257, 258. 



d'Arblay, Madame, 220, 227. 

Dark, James Henry, 285. 

Darwin, Charles, 239. 

Delane, J. T., 242. 

Denison, William, 155-157. 

De Quincey, Thomas, 242. 

Derby, Earl of, 140, 242. 

Devonshire, the Duke of, 139. 

Dibdin, Charles, 241. 

Dickens, Charles, on the Great 
Exhibition, 102-103 ; his Lon- 
don homes, 229, 233-234; his 
man Topping, 230; his ad- 
vice to Macready, 231; his 
dummy books, 233; museum 
wanted, 234. 

Disraeli, Benjamin, 140, 234. 

Dobell, Bertram, 272-274. 

Dogs' Cemetery, the, 97-99. 



Dorset, the Duke of, 287. 
Drewett, Samuel, 315-319. 
Drury Lane Theatre, 42. 
Dryden, John, 220. 
Ducrow, Andrew, 175, 176-177. 
Duncombe, Rev. J., 152. 
Dyce, William, 34-37. 

E 

Edward III, 142. 

Edward VI, 142, 268, 278. 

Edward VII, 88. 

Eleanor crosses, 89. 

Elizabeth, Queen, 87, 242, 275, 

278. 
Ely Place, 62. 
Eton and Harrow, 289. 
Etty, William, 241. 
Evans, Marian, 238. 
Exhibition, the Great, 101-103. 



Falmouth, Countess of, 274. 

Faraday, Michael, 220. 

Fawcett, Henry, 146. 

Fehr, Henry C, 144. 

Finger-prints, 74-76. 

Fire of London, 3, 4, 12, 21, 171. 

Fitz Aylwin, Henry, 86. 

Flaxman, John, 220. 

Fleet River, the, 40, 171. 

Foley, John Henry, 102. 

Forster, W. E., 146. 

Foundling Hospital, the, 187. 

Fox, Charles James, 107, 187, 
247; Henry, first Lord Hol- 
land, 107 ; Stephen, 108. 



[325] 



INDEX 



Francia, 277. 

Francois I, 275. 

Franklin, Benjamin, 225, 248 ; 

Sir John, 129. 
Frere, Sir Bartle, 145. 
Frescoes at Hampton Court, 

279. 
Fry, Elizabeth, 84. 



Gainsborough, Thomas, 225. 
Gar rick, David, 212, 226; Mrs., 

212. 
Gaskell, Mrs., 247. 
Gassiot, Charles, 28. 
Geological Museum, the, 196- 

201. 
George I, 188. 
George II, 185, 268, 274. 
George III, 128, 182. 
George IV, 94, 169. 
"George Eliot," 238. 
Gheeraerts, 275. 
Gibbon, Edward, 226. 
Gibbons, Grinling, 55-56, 61, 91, 

269. 
Gibbs, James, 6, 256. 
Gibson, J. G., 144. 
Gilbert, Sir John, 49; Sir W. 

S., 145. 
Gill, Eric, 64; Macdonald, v. 
Giordano, 269. 
Giorgione, 271, 272. 
Girtin, Thomas, 212. 
Gladstone, W. E., 88, 241, 242. 
Glenconner, Lord, 141. 
Goodwin, Albert, 50. 
Gordon, General, 93. 



Grace, W. G., 289, 290-293. 
Grachami, Carolina, 137. 
Grammont, Countess de, 274. 
Grant, Baron, 131-132. 
Graves of famous men, 178- 

179. 
Green, J. R., 242. 
Gresham, Sir Thomas, 51, 86. 
Griffin, the, 87. 
Guildhall, the, 28-50. 
Guy, Thomas, 194. 
Guy's Hospital, 195. 

H 

Hallam, Henry, 234. 
Hambledon Club, the, 152. 
Hamilton, Lady, 226. 
Hamraerstein, Oscar, 88. 
Hampton Court, 267-280. 
Handel, G. F., 226. 
Hanneman, A., 270. 
Hansom drivers, 53-54. 
Hanway, Jonas, 209. 
Harding, John, 289. 
Harley, Robert, 241. 
Harmsworth, Cecil, 250. 
Harris, Lord, his cherries, 152; 

his history of Lord's, 281 ; Sir 

Augustus, 89. 
Harvey, William, 126, 127. 
Hatton, Sir Christopher, 63. 
Havelock, Sir Henry, 93. 
Hawksmoor, Nicholas, 188. 
Haygarth, A., 158, 159. 
Hazlitt, William, 38, 238. 
Heine, Heinrich, in London, 

243-247. 
Hengler, F. C, 175, 177. 



[326] 



INDEX 



Henry VI, 35. 

Henry VIH, 268, 275, 278. 

Herbert of Cherbury, 61 ; 

George, 34; Sidney, 130. 
Herschel, Sir John, 234. 
Hill, Sir Rowland, 82, 226, 240. 
Hobhouse, J. C, 178. 
Hogarth, William, 127, 191, 

226, 264-266. 
Hogg, Quintin, 192. 
Holbein, 275. 
Holland, Lady, 105-106, 113- 

125 ; the first Lord, 106 ; the 

third Lord, 104, 108-112. 
Holland House, 105-107. 
Hollis, Thomas, Johnson on, 

214. 
Honthorst, G., 273. 
Hood, Thomas, 179, 241, 247. 
Howard, John, 241. 
Hudson, Sir JeflFery, 276. 
Hunt, Leigh, 104, 238. 
Hunter, John, 131, 133-136, 241; 

William, 127. 
Huxley, T. H., 242, 243. 



Ilchester, Lord, 112. 
Irving, Sir Henry, 132. 



James I, 106. 

James II, 91. 

Jenner, Edward, 99, 238. 

Johnson, Dr., his statue, 88; at 
Mrs. Garrick's, 212-217; his 
house, 226, 250-256 ; on Theo- 



bald, 255; on Bolingbroke, 
256; on Warburton, 256; as 
a churchgoer, 256 ; his me- 
morial window, 258 ; on ridi- 
cule, 259 ; on various things, 
259-263. 
Joicey, J. G., 169. 

K 

Kean, Edmund, 238. 

Keats, John, 227. 

Kensal Green Cemetery, 178- 

179. 
Kensington Palace, 99-101. 
Kent, Duke of, 196. 
Kingscote, Mr., 288. 
Kneller, Sir G., 270. 



Lamb, Charles, 45-47, 240. 

Landseer's lion, 93. 

Law Courts, the, 143. 

Law, Ernest, 275. 

Lawrence, Lord, 128. 

Lawson, Sir Wilfrid, 146. 

Leech, John, 240. 

Lely, Sir Peter, 270, 274. 

Leno, Dan, 84. 

Leslie, C. R., 178. 

Le Soeur, Herbert, 90. 

Lever, Sir William, 63. 

Lilly white, William, 158, 159, 
288. 

Lilly white's Scores and Biog- 
raphies, 153, 153, 159, 281. 

Linacre, Thomas, 126. 

Lind, Jenny, 242. 



[327] 



INDEX 



Lister, Lord, 248. 

London Bridge, Old, 57, 171; 
County Council, 229-249 ; Mu- 
seum, the, 163-173; its Fire, 
4, 12-21; its white stone, 6; 
its street names, 77-79; its 
statues, 80-91, 126-132, 139- 
148, 185-195; its cricket- 
grounds, 149-162, 281-293; 
its want of a circus, 174-178; 
Dickens' counsels on, 231-233; 
in Disraeli's writings, 234- 
237; Heine on, 244-245; Uni- 
versity, 186. 

Long, J. St. John, 178. 

Lord Mayor's water pageant, 
41. 

Lord, Thomas, 282-284. 

Lord's Cricket Ground, 150, 
282-293. 

Lotto, Lorenzo, 272. 

Luini, B., 270. 

Lumpy, 153. 

Lyell, Sir Charles, 241. 

Lytton, Lord, 239. 

M 

Mabuse, 275, 278. 

Macaulay, Lord, 108-112, 115, 

229. 
Maholi Galago, the, 295. 
Mann, Sir Horace, 152, 288. 
Manning, Cardinal, 248, 289. 
Mantegna, Andrea, 279. 
Mappin, Frederick, 295. 
Marble Arch, the, 94, 96. 
Marochetti, Baron, 141. 
Martyrs' Memorial, 81. 



Marvel!, Andrew, 62. 
Mary, Princess, 274. 
Mary, Queen, 278. 
Marylebone Cricket Club, 281- 

293- 

Maurice, F. D., 240. 

Melbourne, Lord, 113. 

Mill, James, 241 ; John Stuart, 
146, 241. 

Millais, Sir J. E., 29, 32, 193. 

Milton, John, 58, 82, 96, 227. 

Mint, the Royal, 68-72. 

Monro, Dr. Thomas, 212. 

Montgomery, Bishop, 155. 

Montpelier Club, the, 154. 

Monument, the, 20. 

More, Hannah, 213. 

Morris, William, 243, 266. 

Mudge's Sermons, Johnson on, 
215. 

Mulready, W., 178. 

Museums: The College of Sur- 
geons, 133-137; the Geologi- 
cal, 196-201 ; the London, 
163-173. 

Myddelton, Sir Hugh, 82, 86. 

Mynn, Alfred, 160, 289. 

Mytens, Daniel, 270, 276. 

N 

Names of streets, 77-79. 
Napier of Magdala, Lord, 129; 

Charles James, 93. 
Napoleon IH, 227. 
Nasmyth, Patrick, 30. 
National Gallery, the, 143. 
Nelson, Lord, 44, 227; Column, 

the, 92-93. 



[328] 



INDEX 



Newman, Cardinal, 193. 
New Scotland Yard, 72-77, 142. 
Newton, Sir Isaac, 131, 241. 
Nightingale, Florence, 130, 248. 



Onslow, the Speaker, 247. 
Osbaldeston, George, 192, 282, 

28S. 
Outram, Sir James, 145. 
Oval, the, 149-162. 



Pictures in the City, 28-50. 
Pitt, W. (Earl of Chatham), 

242; William, 185, 238. 
Poets' Fountain, 96. 
Ponsonby-Fane, Sir Spencer, 

285. 
Pordenone, 271. 
Powell, Picky, 290. 
"Pre-RaflFaelism," 31-34, 37. 



♦Q," Old, 62. 



Page, John T., his notes on 

statues, 81. 
Palma, 271 ; the younger, 273. 
Palmerston, Lord, 140, 240. 
Panton, Thomas, 77. 
Panyer Alley, 82. 
Parmigianino, 277. 
Peabody, George, 82. 
Peel, Sir Robert, 82, 140, 234. 
Pennethorne, Sir James, 144. 
Penrose, F. C, quoted, 22-25. 
Pepys, Samuel, 13-20. 
Perceval, Spencer, 247. 
Peter the Great, 227. 
"Peter Pan" statue, 100. 
Pether, Abraham, 42. 
Pheasants at the Zoo, 296-298. 
Phelps, Samuel, 243. 
Physicians, Royal College of, 

126-127. 
Pickering, Sir William, 166- 

167. 
Pickpocket, an adventure with 

a, 301-302. 



Raglan, Lord, 141, 243. 

Raikes, Robert, 146. 

Reade, Charles, 241. 

Record Office, the, 144. 

Rennie, John, 239. 

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 39, 41, 

43, 127, 131, 210, 213, 215, 

227. 
Richard I, 141. 
Richardson, Samuel, 44. 
River, churches seen from, 5; 

Pageant, 41. 
Roberts, David, 38, 39. 
Rodin, Auguste, 142. 
Rogers, Samuel, 113, 220, 239. 
Romney, George, 241. 
Rossetti, D. G., 194, 239-243. 
Rothschild tombs, the, 178. 
Royal Academy, the, 127, 210; 

Exchange, the, 50, 171 ; Mint, 

the, 68-72. 
Ruskin, John, 227, 242. 
Russell, Lord John, 243. 

[329] 



INDEX 



S 



Sanctity, odour of, 57. 

Schiavone, 270, 273. 

Scores and Biographies, 152, 
281. 

Scott, Captain, 128; Sir Gil- 
bert, loi, 242; Sir Walter, 
220. 

Shakespeare, William, 83, 96, 
130, 249. 

Shaftesbury, Lord, 185. 

Shaw, Norman, 143. 

Shee, Sir M. A., 211. 

Sheridan, R. B., 114, 191, 227. 

Shipway, Colonel, 264. 

Shirley, James, 60. 

Siddons, Mrs., 190, 228, 239, 
240. 

Sloane, Sir Hans, 194. 

Smeaton, John, 178. 

Smith, Sydney, 113, 115-125, 

239- 
Smithfield, 85. 
Society of Arts, the, 202-211, 

218-228. 
Somers, Will, 278. 
Somerviile, Mary, 242. 
Sophia, Princess, 179. 
"Spanish Horse," the, 180. 
Speke, J. H., 100. 
Spencer, Sir John, 166. 
Spielmann, M. H., 31. 
Spurgeon, C. H., 248. 
Stafford House, 163. 
Stanfield, Clarkson, 242. 
Staple Inn Garden, loi. 
Statues of London, 80-91, 126- 

132, 139-148, 185-195. 



Stead, W. T., 146. 
Steel, A. G., 179. 
Stephenson, George, 189; Rob- 
ert, 189, 238. 
Stothard, Thomas, 243. 
Strathnairn, Lord, 193. 
Street names, 77-79. 
Street, G. E., 143. 
Stubbs, George, 191. 
Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 146. 
Surgeons, the College of, 133, 
Surrey cricket, 149-162. 
Sussex, Duke of, 119. 
Swan, J. M., 44, 48. 
Swift, Dean, 277. 
Sydenham, Thomas, 126. 



Tablets forbidden, 248. 
Tankerville, the Earl of, 152, 

287. 
Tapestry at Hampton Court, 

280. 
Tate, Sir Henry, 193. 
Taxi-drivers, 53-54. 
Taylor, A. T., 26; C. G., 288. 
Temple, the, 240. 
Temple Bar, 88. 
Tennant Gallery, the, 141. 
Tennyson, Lord, 248. 
Thackeray, W. M., 179, 228, 

238, 247. 
Thompson, Francis, 172. 
Thomson, James (the first), 

172; (the second), 172. 
Thornhill, Sir James, 277. 
Thurloe, John, 228. 
Tintoretto, 271, 273. 



[330] 



INDEX 



Titian, 271. 
Tomkins, Thomas, 39. 
Trelawney, E. J., 96. 
Trollope, Anthony, 179-248. 
Turner, J. W. M., 212. 
Turtle soup, 52. 
Tyndale, William, 145. 

u 

University College, 222. 

V 

Valpy, Richard, 178. 
Vane, Sir Harry, 228. 
Verrio, 269. 

Victoria, Queen, 51, 84, 94, 100, 
103, 147, 169. 

w 

Waithman, Robert, 87. 
Walpole, Sir Robert, 228. 
Walworth, Sir William, 86. 
Ward, William, 154, 282, 284- 

285, 288. 
Ware, Dr. Joshua, 211. 
Warner, P. F., 281. 
Waterlow, Sir Sydney H., 

193. 
Watts, G. F., 83, 100, 104. 



Wellington, Duke of, 82, 96, 

245-247. 
Wesley, John, 81. 
West, Benjamin, 206. 
Westminster Guildhall, the, 

144. 
Wheatley, Francis, 191. 
Whittington, Dick, 3. 
Wilberforce, William, 239. 
Wild, Jonathan, 137. 
Wilkes, John, 39, 41, 87. 
Wilkie, Sir David, 239. 
William III, loi, 130, 269, 273. 
William IV, 82. 
Wilson, Sir Erasmus, 147. 
Winchilsea, Earl of, 282. 
Wolfe, General, 242. 
Wolsey, Cardinal, 244, 269, 

280. 
Wordsworth, Charles, 289. 
Wotton, Mabel E., 249; Sir 

Henry, 272-273. 
Wren, Sir Christopher, 2, 4-13, 

21-27. 55. 57, 91, 143, 234, 

243. 

Y 

York, Duke of, 128, 182. 
Young, Thomas, 238. 



Zoological Gardens, 294-302. 



[331] 



P 6J5 



